


What I've Overcome

by Bloodism



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-22
Updated: 2012-04-05
Packaged: 2017-11-02 09:13:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodism/pseuds/Bloodism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The souls are back in Purgatory and now the Winchesters have a blind, ex-angel on their hands. Dean insists that it's going to take him a while to forgive Cas for what he's done, but as the trio head across the states, fleeing from the monsters they once hunted, Dean ends up thinking about a lot more than forgiveness...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-ed by the lovely Paula. I'm British, so there might be a few strange British slip-ups. This is also my first time with these characters, so apologies for any OOCness.

**Prologue**

His first encounter with darkness was deep in the chasm of Hell. Twining threads of black wrapped around his bright form and then he was heavy. An angel swept and floated through the air fluidly, but this dark mass pulled him down.

He had never experienced emotions before his voyage to Hell. Perhaps that was where it had started – this impossible connection to rebellious acts and Dean Winchester.

It was there, he first felt desire. Desire to escape, to grab the human and flee, to obliterate the black with his light. His brothers around him weren’t enough to quench his need for the safety of Heaven.

He was the small runt, the lower warrior. No one expected it to be him.

He found Dean. Dean, whose soul drowned out both the darkness and his brothers. So bright, this brilliant, righteous man. When Castiel leant forwards and placed his glowing, hand-shaped spectrum onto the bloodied, ash-stained shoulder of Dean Winchester, it was then that he felt the safety that he thirsted for so much. There, in the lethal, white-hot danger of Hell, Castiel was safe.

Because the righteous man was there, and suddenly, nothing else mattered.

-

When he closed the eyelids of his vessel, he saw only bright light, squashed and tight against the skin. He wondered, sometimes, whether he would ever be able to experience the kind of darkness that he knew Dean and Sam did. When they closed their eyes, it wasn’t light they saw.

There were times, in his vessel, when he had been unconscious, half-human, not-quite-there. Even then, he saw only light.

He didn’t want it. He hated how it attempted to comfort him, hated how it was a constant reminder of Heaven.

He felt hate.

-

_‘They feel I've begun to express emotions, doorways, to doubt. This can impair my judgement.’_

When he had been informed about his emotions, Castiel hadn’t known. No, he couldn’t even understand what it was he had been feeling. _Emotions,_ they had said, _were a fickle fault in our Father’s creation. They are not a part of us. They are a disease._

That wasn’t true.

Humans were the perfect angels. Angels were the faulted ones. Anna had told him.

And he believed it.

-

He cared about the Winchesters more than he would ever admit.

Heaven was chaos, and the last thing he needed was his followers doubting his position. Did they know? The faith that he had once given his Father was being taken by the brothers. Did his Father know?

He needed to stop Raphael, so they could be safe. His friends – his only friends – needed to _stay alive._ And he was willing to do anything to ensure that happened. To save the world, to save the precious humans, he would make a deal with the Devil.

Crowley was the compromise.

-

It ached. It ached, badly. The back of Dean’s head had never been such a painful sight.

He just didn’t know. He didn’t have to breathe, yet his chest was strung, wound and pressed hard against his heart. His vessels eyes, they were prickling and it was uncomfortable. His true eyes, the eyes of his form, were flickering erratically.

 _‘Cas, I just can’t.’_    

_You can’t do this, Dean, not to me. I gave everything I had._

He unfurled his wings, and flew.

_And I’d give so much more._

-

Burning. Excruciating, limitless agony.

The souls, screeching and clawing through his spectrum, bled with ferocity through the vessels chest. They tore flesh from bone with a sticky rip and sliced with ease through the light that was his true form. The body healed itself, and then there were more souls, biting and chomping their way through the pale skin.

There was radiance and hot intensity and white. Then he saw it. Or rather, saw nothing.

The darkness he had once wished had finally enveloped him. He hurt. He throbbed. He was on the floor. It was silent. He could move his hand and it scrabbled at the dirty dust on the tiled floors.

_Thump._

He sucked in a breath.

_Thump._

The heart. The vessel’s heart. He could feel it. He had to—

He sucked in another breath.

“Cas?”

Dean was there. Dean – forgiving, worried, righteous Dean – grasping his arm. The warmth spread through the trenchcoat, through the layers of clothing, piercing at his skin pleasantly.

His heart thumped again. Castiel felt his lip turn upwards in one corner. _He’d done it. And survived._

“They’re gone, Dean. All of them. I—“

It was silent. His brothers and sisters – the constant buzz in his head – gone. His hand sought purchase in the air, trying to search through the darkness. He found a body in front of him, breathing, tense. Dean.

“I can’t hear them, Dean. My brothers—“ His trembling hand pushed and pulled against the shoulder, clutching and releasing, fumbling through the rough material. Dean’s solid chest was a comfort in the deadly blackness.

“Dean, where are you?”

“I’m right here. I’m here.” More concern, laced with fear. Castiel gulped down a breath of oxygen, a tangy taste tingling on his tongue. _I don’t need to breathe—_

“Dean,” Sam’s voice was quiet, pained even. Castiel swung his head around, eyes rolling in the darkness. _Need to see Sam. Is Dean okay?_

“I don’t like this,” Castiel whispered to himself, though his hoarse voice reverberated around the room. His shaking hand slid from Dean’s shoulder, dancing along the ridge of his collar. He slipped Dean’s cheek into his hot, dirty palm.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice was quivering, like his hand, like his resolve.

“Dean,” he swallowed, ash and grit in his throat, “why can’t I see you? Why can’t I open my eyes?”

Intakes of breath were quickly replaced by the hasty crunch of rubble. Heavy footsteps – Sam, then. Sam was by his side.

“Cas,” Dean’s words caught in his throat. A sleeve brushed by Castiel’s knuckles. Sam had placed a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“Cas, your eyes are open.”

 

**Chapter One**

“Watch your step,” Sam says quietly, his grip tightening on Castiel’s hand. Dean doesn’t miss the way his eyes worriedly flicker between the two of them, like he expects him to lash out.

“Stop it, Sammy. I’m not that cruel,” he bites out aggressively, turning away to run a hand over his face.

He can’t be cruel. He still has this seething mess of betrayal in his stomach, but it seems unfair to throw it around while Cas is in his current state.

He isn’t going to help him, though.

“My brothers and sisters—”

“It’s alright, Cas, we’ll sort this out,” Sam reassures him, leading him over to the table. Dean clenches his jaw and takes deep breaths to calm himself before turning around. The invisible knife that had been twisting in his chest plunges in deeper.

Castiel’s eyes are glazed over, darting around the room uneasily. It gives Dean a small twinge of nostalgia –   _the last time he had seen the angel’s gaze so disorientated was at the whorehouse_. His lips tug downwards and he stands in the centre of the room, scowling.

“Jesus,” Bobby comes clattering through the door, bag of guns slung over his shoulder. “So, what’s the prognosis?”

Sam slumps into the chair opposite Cas and scratches at his forehead. Dean spares him a concerned glance – _was the wall still standing?_

“He can’t see and his angel buddies are MIA,” Dean forces himself to say offhandedly, padding into the kitchen to get a bottle of beer. Bobby obviously doesn’t buy his casual attitude and watches him suspiciously, eyes narrowing.   

“You sayin’ he’s not tuned into angel radio any longer? Where the hell they all ran off to?” Bobby drops the bag on his shoulder to the floor and steps in front of Cas. There’s a moment where Bobby just stands in front of him, eyeing him up. _If anyone could figure what was wrong with an angel, it’d be Bobby._

 He bends forwards and snaps his fingers in front of Cas’s blank, expressionless face.

Castiel blinks, flinching backwards slightly.

Silence falls. A heavy, stifling silence, where the words everyone wants to say just bounces around the empty room, choking them.

Bobby straightens up and walks past Dean to fill up a glass with water. The brothers watch him carefully make his way across the room and stop in front of Castiel, where he then holds the glass out. Cas doesn’t take it.

“Well come on, I ain’t feedin’ you like a cherub,” he snaps.

It’s like something inside Castiel suddenly breaks and sends him swirling out of control. He can’t see, but his trembling hand shoots up and the fingers tighten around the glass in frightening accuracy. In his haste, Castiel makes water splash around the edges of the glass. He drinks thirstily, gulping down the clear liquid like he’d never drunk it before.

He hadn’t.

The beer suddenly feels like acid in Dean’s mouth and he swallows.

“Human,” he croaks. Bobby and Sam’s heads turns to him and he quickly clears his throat, covering up his lack of composure with another reluctant glug of his beer. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and storms away from them, seating himself stiffly onto the couch. Then he flicks on the television and concentrates on ignoring the scene going on behind him.

“Cas, you’re human?” Sam asks softly behind him. Dean can feel his brother’s glare of disapproval digging into the back of his head. _Let him stare. He and Cas can be best buddies._

“I hope not.”

Castiel’s reply isn’t disheartened, or concerned. Just truthful. Just passive. So much like… _Cas._

Dean’s lips thin and he finishes the rest of his bottle.

“You just downed that glass of water like an AA member in a locked room full o’ whiskey,” Bobby shoves his hands into his jeans, “I’d say that was a pretty human thing to do.”

“Bobby’s right,” Sam adds from the other side of the table, “And you can’t hear the angels.”

They allow him some time to process the theory. Dean looks over his shoulder, curious about the silence.

Castiel shuffles uncomfortably in his seat, his hands clasped in his lap. He looks surprisingly like   _Cas_ , considering the circumstances “That would seem the most logical solution.”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up.

“That’s it?” He shares his puzzled expression with Bobby and Sam, who look over at him in surprise, “You’re human. You can’t see—” __

_“_ What else am I supposed to do, Dean?” Castiel suddenly snaps, his hands fisting in his lap. He drops his head. “This is a worthy punishment for my sins.”

Dean lets out a breathless, humourless laugh. He wishes he could say that Cas has a point, but he can’t find it in him.

“Cas, you didn’t do any of those things. It wasn’t _you.”_ Sam says, sending a glance Dean’s way. It’s a look that says ‘you should be saying these things, not me’. Dean just ignores it. “You did it to protect Heaven, right? You had no idea what was gonna happen.”

Dean finds himself looking expectantly at Bobby, waiting for him to chip in. The man casts the two brothers a critical look.

“Hey, I ain’t sayin’ nothin’. Instead of fluffin’ up his clipped wings, deal with this human thing,” he throws a hand into Cas’s direction, “You know, like get him to a doctor.”

Sam agrees, absorbing Bobby’s words like they were a frickin’ revelation. Dean snorts and turns away. He wants to throw a comment in their direction about how they should just throw Cas into the streets and leave him there, but the very thought makes his gut ache.

“I don’t like this,” Castiel says passively into the pondering silence.

“It’s better than bein’ dead, son,” Bobby sighs.   

“I suppose I shouldn’t see it as a punishment to be one of God’s finest creatures.” Castiel’s voice sounds neither hopeful, nor depressed. “Though it would be nice if I could see.”

“We can’t promise anything, Cas,” Sam says. Dean winces at his tone – it’s the one he uses when he’s talking to those mourning their loved ones. What would they do if Cas was going to stay blind? Dean tries to make himself imagine that future, but finds it can’t form.

Bobby claps his hands together, alarming everyone out of their gloomy stupor. “Well, I don’t know about you idgits, but I’m gonna go and get a decent night’s sleep. Got no King o’ Hell to worry about.”

Dean starts with surprise.   _That’s right_ _– there’s nothing weighing us down now_. Sure, they needed to do a little clean-up, but they’re free men. Or, as free as hunters can get.

He holds up his empty beer bottle.

“Amen to that.”

-

“Nothing.”

Sam sits down on the plush couch opposite Dean in the waiting room. After Sam’s declaration, Dean looks up from the magazine he’s reading from, eyebrows raised.

“’Nothing’? What do you mean ‘nothing’?”

“I mean, there’s nothing wrong with Cas. Except for the fact he’s definitely human.” Sam explains impatiently, running a hand through his hair. Dean slams the magazine shut and throws it onto the table, leaning forwards to press his elbows into his knees.

“But… he can’t _see.”_ Dean stares at Sam, as though he was going to suddenly spew the answer. Sam just pulls a face at him.

“Yeah, I know, Dean. The doctor’s say there’s nothing wrong with his eyes - they’re a little freaked, actually.”

“Great,” Dean runs both his hands quickly across his face and leans back against the hard backrest. His hands slump heavily into his lap and his eyes follow a bizarre stain on the ceiling above him. “So, what, we just drag Cas around with us until he can see again? If he ever will?”

Sam’s quiet. Clearly, he doesn’t approve of Dean’s bluntness on the topic of Cas’s sight. _Well, screw him. Someone had to say it._

Except the quiet’s dissolving. There’s a question dancing in the air between them. Dean can hear it, even before Sam says it.

“Dean, when are you going to forgive—”

“Shut it, Sam.” Dean lifts his head to look at his brother, who’s watching him sympathetically. For just a moment, Dean allows his mask to drop, showing Sam just an inkling of the grief he’s feeling. “I can’t.”

It looks like Sam wants to say something, but he keeps it to himself and turns away. They sit in silence, until Sam takes in a deep breath.

“He’s not leaving. He’s staying with us.”

Dean rubs the back of his head and takes to staring at a piece of floor. He already knows.

He knew that Cas was going to be staying with them. He knew that Sam was going to insist on it and no matter how much he would protest, he knew it was a fight he couldn’t win. His little brother was too forgiving – but Dean wasn’t going to trade that trait in him for the world.

A tirade of flapping interrupts Dean’s thoughts and both brothers are on their feet in seconds, staring hard at their visitor.

“Evening boys.”

“Balthazar?” Dean whispers in disbelief. He hates the way his shoulders sink with relief. He’s glad it isn’t some douche-y angel out to get him and Sam – though he isn’t sure whether Balthazar is a better alternative. “But you were—”

“Dead? Well, come on, give me some credit,” The angel presses a hand to his own chest, “Cas stabbed the fake me. Little bastard.”

“Cas is human. And blind,” Sam says slowly, as though it would make the situation better. Balthazar sends him a sarcastic, dumbfounded look.

“Really?  I had no idea. How about we go and pull faces at him?”

“This isn’t funny,” Dean finds himself saying. Balthazar examines him carefully.

“I thought you doesn’t care about him anymore, Deano? Didn’t you want him dead?”

It’s a low blow, and Balthazar knows it.

“Can’t you just go and heal him? Mojo him up, give him his Grace back?” Sam asks exasperatedly. Balthazar’s mocking expression falls, just slightly.

“That’s not why I’m here.”

“Then why are you here?” Dean spits angrily. Balthazar sends him a challenging look.

“To see my friend. You see, unlike a certain pitiful human I know, I forgive my friends when they make mistakes.”  

Dean clenches his jaw and his expression goes blank. Sam readjusts his footing beside him – he knows an expressionless Dean is an angry Dean. Balthazar seems to know this too, but he doesn’t stand down.

“He tried to kill me and I forgave him,” Balthazar smirks humourlessly, “I think I’m more righteous than the righteous man right now—“

“Get the Hell outta here,” Dean growls, moving forwards. Before he can approach Balthazar and pound his face into the medicine cart nearby, there‘s a flutter of wings. He’s gone.

Dean lets out a deep, calming breath through his nose and closes his eyes. The last time he’d had a conversation that painful, he’d been staring into Cas’s hurt gaze.

_‘Stand behind me. The one time I ask.’_

“We should go.”

Sam’s voice is laden with that irritating, yet comforting, pity. Dean doesn’t want it. He wants them to understand. Do they know how sick he is of being double-crossed? Sam with Ruby. Cas with Crowley.

He couldn’t live without Sam. He knows that. Maybe in a few years, he’d finally regain the trust that he once had in him. But Sam was his brother.

Castiel, well, he knew. He knew how Dean had felt after Sam had ran off and he knew how much it hurt him. He could see Dean’s soul – he must have seen the harsh tear that Sam’s betrayal had left on it. And yet he had gone off to Crowley, plotted behind his back.

Dean was just _done._

“Yeah,” Dean croaks, dampening his dry throat, “we should go.”

-

Dean sends a cautious glance to the angel – or rather, ex-angel – in the back seat of his Impala through the rear-view mirror. ACDC is playing quietly on the radio, since the silence had been unbearable, but Cas seems oblivious. In fact, Cas seems out of it.

“What’d Balthazar say to you?” Dean asks suddenly, making Sam jump next to him. He stares at Dean in surprise, before turning his head to look at Cas through his wing mirror. Castiel’s eyes are unfocused.

“Nothing that concerns you.”

Disbelief spreads across Dean’s face. _Well, fine._ If Cas wanted to be like that, it wasn’t worth wasting another thought on him. It’s just the whirring of the car engine and the faint lyrics of Back In Black until Cas speaks again.

“I apologise.”

Dean keeps his eyes on the road, feigning disinterest, but his ears perk up. He’s listening.

“I suppose it does concern you,” Castiel lowers his head. “Balthazar knows the location of my Grace. But it is unreachable. As is my sight.”

Sam flips around in his seat, staring hard at Cas.

“You mean he can’t heal you?”

“My eyes are not damaged. There is nothing to heal.” He picks at a fraying piece of thread on his trench coat. “We discussed our theories and how Heaven was coping. It appears Gabriel has taken charge—“

“That dick is still alive?” Dean shoots out with disbelief. He realises his game is up, and that now they know he had been listening. Neither Sam nor Cas seem to care.

“We never saw his body. We assumed he had fallen because he had gone silent,” Cas’s lips twitch, “I should have known better.”

As if on cue, there’s a rustle of feathers and Dean curses loudly at their new visitor.

“Get the fuck out of my car.”

Gabriel smirks.

“Come on, now. I expected a better welcome. Don’t you remember the last time you saw me?”

Dean clamps his mouth shut. Of course. He’d been surprised that Gabe had actually returned for them. Facing Lucifer head on? He had to admit, Gabe had balls.

“What do you want?” Sam asks tetchily from the passenger seat. Gabriel rests a hand on Castiel’s knee and ignores Sam’s question, turning to the ex-angel beside him instead.

“How you doin’, Cassie?”

“I’m blind and human.”

Dean can’t help the small twist of a smile that pulls at his lips. It would have been a disheartening reply, if Cas hadn’t casually thrown it out like he was telling him he’d stepped in dog crap.

“Details, details. I mean, how do you feel now you know you’re going to spend the rest of your pitiful human life with these two knuckleheads?”

Dean’s humor immediately evaporates. It hadn’t occurred to him that Cas would be spending forever with them, though it should have. Gabriel’s watching Dean carefully in the rear view mirror, eyes twinkling in a way that tells him the dick _knows_ what he’s doing.

There’s silence. A silence that doesn’t hold an ‘I’m thinking about that question’ air but rather an ‘I don’t want to say’ kind of air. Sam stares at Cas in concern – he can probably feel the heavy undertone to the stillness too.

“Cas?”

“I don’t plan on staying with the Winchesters,” Castiel eventually grinds out. Apparently pretending they aren’t in the car is the way he’s going to play this game. Dean’s fingers go white on the steering wheel.

Sam turns around in his seat further, a look of outrage spreading over his face. “What? No—”

“That’s a brave move, kiddo.” Gabriel slaps Cas on the shoulder, making him flinch a little. It must be disconcerting to not be able to see when someone was about to touch you.

“Dean?” Sam urges him, obviously expecting him to protest about Cas’s decision. Every inch of Dean tells him to stop the car, climb out and shout in Cas’s face about how _fucking idiotic_ the idea is. But he fights against the temptation and keeps driving.

“He can do what the fuck he wants,” he croaks, ignoring the sting in the back of his eyes. He catches a glimpse of Castiel’s face in the backseat and ignores the stab of hurt that he feels when he sees how crestfallen he looks.

“Wow, bucko, you’re being a little harsh there.” Gabriel’s tone is still teasing, but Dean hears the warning behind it. He grinds his teeth together.

“Cas, you’re not going anywhere.” Sam reassures, sparing Dean an angry glare. Dean sends him one back.

“I’m not gonna convince him to stay,” Dean says to him, his voice surprisingly level. “He popped Purgatory and knocked down your wall. I can’t forgive him for that and if he wants to leave, he can frickin’ leave.”

“Dean, he only knocked it down temporarily—”

“He did it, Sam. That’s what matters.” Dean snaps, turning his head sharply round to focus his angry scowl on his brother. Movement in the back seat catches his eye and he glances quickly at Gabriel. He’s sending a scarily serious stare in his direction.

“Well heck. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so ungrateful,” Gabriel leans forwards, pressing his hand on the shoulder of Dean’s seat. Dean shifts uncomfortably – the powerful aura of an archangel was oozing out of Gabriel - and turns back to the road. Gabriel lowers his voice to a whisper. “You know what Cas did, buddy boy? He saved your ass, he saved your brothers ass, he saved the world’s ass and he saved Heaven’s ass. Look what he got for it.”

And then he’s gone with a rush of air, leaving Dean with a heavy stomach and words that are etched into his brain like the Enochian sigils on his ribs.

-

They arrive back at Bobby’s with a heavy silence over their heads. Dean’s mind is flashing and whirring through the events of the last twenty-four hours and Sam seems to be happy to let him ingest them quietly.

It hurts to look at Cas, unable to walk a few steps without almost stumbling. Sam has led his hand to his forearm and for the moment, Cas seems content to use Sam as his guide. Somewhere in his fucked up, unforgiving head of his, Dean wants it to be him instead. He wants to be the person Cas can rely on.

But he’s stubborn. His brother may have forgiven him, but Dean’s still setting hard with his decision.

“Thank you very much, Sam,” Castiel sighs gratefully, seating himself in the dining chair. Sam sends him a small, sympathetic smile, though he knows he can’t see it.

“Don’t mention it. I’m gonna go check on Bobby. Don’t move, okay?” He throws Dean a pointed look before he leaves but Dean just snorts and props himself against the doorframe. He rests his head against it and closes his eyes, feeling exhaustion that, for once, he allows himself to feel. No need to stay up and research. No need to worry about whether or not they can save world _._

Gentle rustling makes him reopen his eyes. He watches Cas fidget uncomfortably in the chair, his hands pressed into his lap, as they always are. He continues to shuffle and even though Dean bites the insides of his cheek, he finds himself sighing.

“What is it?” He asks resignedly.

“I am… uncomfortable.”

Dean raises one eyebrow and readjusts the position of his shoulder on the doorframe.

“Well, humans can’t sit like they have a stick up their asses. You need to relax.”

Castiel shoots up off of his seat with a growl of irritation, making Dean jump in surprise. With a bewildered look, he watches as Cas tears off his trenchcoat and suit jacket.

“It’s _hot,”_ he breathes out in irritation, throwing the clothing in the general direction of the table behind him. Dean’s more than a little weirded out, seeing Cas so… _naked._ God, it was wrong. He’d seen Jimmy in his suit, but he’d never seen _Cas_ in just a _shirt_ before. He may as well have been standing in front of him without clothes, it was so shockingly _wrong._

“Weather sucks when you can feel it,” Dean quips, though with less energy than before. His voice is breaking. Seeing Cas standing in the kitchen, looking so _human,_ makes the reality of the situation finally hit him. The strong, powerful Cas who would fly down upon his request, who would smite demons, who would disappear without warning – he was gone. This was now, and Cas is _human_.

Cas stretches a hand out behind him, feeling for the ridge of the table. Dean watches him smooth the hand along the wood, moving slowly backwards towards his chair. It’s pitiful, and his heart _aches._ Damn it, it hurt. It hurt a lot to see him like this.

Dean moves forwards, rolling his lips inwards and breathing in deeply through his nose to keep his emotions at bay.

“Cas, let me—“

Castiel swoops forwards suddenly, his legs crumpling beneath him. Dean’s there, strong arms wrapped around Cas’s warm waist.

“Cas! Cas, you okay?”

Cas’s head rolls over his shoulder, turning so his nose is pressed into the ridge of Dean’s neck. He mumbles something.

“Speak up,” Dean sits back on his feet, pulling Cas half onto his lap. It’s a girly, awkward way to sit, but if Cas is injured, he wants to move him as little as possible.

“Drowsy,” Castiel’s low, hoarse whisper skates across Dean’s hot skin and he swallows, rolling his shoulder uncomfortably.

“You hurt?”

“Just…” His words trail off. Worriedly, Dean turns his head, wrinkling his nose when Cas’s mussed hair rubs against it. He’s still breathing, which is a good sign.

Then he hears a gentle snore.

Dean doesn’t know whether to laugh or punch something.

“Son of a bitch,” he whispers to himself with a smile.

The door opens behind them, but Dean stays as still as he can, resting a gentle, cautious hand on Cas’s back. It soothes him – even though he doesn’t want to forgive him and even though they aren’t friends anymore, the fact that Cas is alive and breathing is _right._

“Dean!” Sam runs in quickly, his tone loud and worried. Dean snaps his head round to glare at him.

“Lower the volume,” he whispers harshly.

Sam slows, the concern fading rapidly from his expression. His brow furrows in confusion, then smoothes out in realisation.

“Sleeping?” He asks, in a hushed tone.

Dean nods. “Collapsed on me, dumbass angel.”

It isn’t a slip up. Castiel’s still an angel in Dean’s mind – Grace or no Grace.

“Need help?”

“Nah, I’m good.” Dean moves away from Cas as gently as he can, hooking an arm under his knees. He pulls him up into a bridal carry, eyebrows rising in surprise when Cas clasps the front of his jacket subconsciously. He tucks his head further against Dean’s shoulder.

Dean moves his bewildered look over to Sam When Dean see’s that his brother is having trouble keeping his expression schooled, his own expression falls and he stares at Sam intimidatingly.

“Not a word, Sammy,” he orders sternly in his normal volume. Sam grins, though his eyes gleam with more than just amusement at the scene before him. Dean was on the road to forgiving Cas, and it’d only been a day.

He just didn’t know it yet.

-

“Well, that was one of the best nights of sleep I’ve ever had,” Bobby pulls a mug from a cupboard in the kitchen, filling it with coffee from his machine. He sips it with a grimace and Dean watches him take a silver flask from his pocket, tipping its contents into the brown liquid.

“It’s 10AM,” Dean says. Bobby sends him a confused, challenging glance.

“So?”

Dean rolls his eyes and turns around, rocking his shoulder once.  His face scrunches up in pain as the limbs protest - the bruises he had gotten after being tossed around like a ragdoll were a painful reminder. They provided white flashes of his memories, piercing him with images of Cas’s eyes, lifeless yet glistening with the raw power that thrummed through him.

It was ironic that when Cas’s eyes finally had life, he was unable to see through them.

A thump from above draws Dean from his thoughts and he looks cautiously at the ceiling. Bobby’s gaze lifts too. Judging by his expression, he already knows the cause of the sound. He takes a sip of his coffee (if it could still be called that).

“Guess his Lordship is up.”

Dean looks over his shoulder to send Bobby a disapproving look. The old man just pulls a face at Dean’s pointless displeasure and pads off into the living room, newspaper clenched in his hand.

There are hurried footsteps echoing from above him now, so Dean assumes Sam has ran to Cas’s side. He swallows back the invisible, protruding lump in his throat and feigns ignorance when those footsteps are soon heavy clunks on the stairs. They are shuffled and stunted.

“Thank you,” Cas’s voice is muffled from the wall that separates the kitchen from the hallway and Dean hates the cruel swoop that runs through his stomach in response to it. Today was going to be hard – explanations, forced disinterest, squashed pity.

The door opens. He busies himself with a glass of milk.

“Morning,” Sam says tautly after it’s clear that Dean is ignoring their presence. Dean can’t help smirking a little – Sam always caught on to Dean’s vices quickly.

Which is why, instead of drinking the milk himself, he approaches his brother and Cas. Without sparing Sam a glance, he lifts Cas’s hand and places the glass into it.

“Milk,” he says plainly. If he notices Sam’s thankful smile when he turns away, he doesn’t show any sign of it.

He _was_ going to occupy himself with cooking a fried breakfast, but instead he finds himself watching as Castiel slowly lifts the glass to his lips. His movements are wary and he waits until his lips touch the cold edge of the class before tipping it into his mouth.

Throughout the whole process, he keeps his eyes closed.

Dean throws a questioning glance towards his brother, who answers with an ‘I’ll tell you later’ frown.

“I like this,” Cas croaks. It certainly doesn’t sound like he does – he had said it with such a sad tone, like he’d broken his favourite toy. It was probably a strange feeling, actually having a personal preference after not having to care.

“Ready for breakfast?” Sam asks Cas, placing a reassuring hand on his back. Dean doesn’t miss the friendly action and he eyes up the point of contact. Sam wasn’t a very touchy-feely person, so seeing him touching Cas so easily? More than a little weird.

Sam notices his inquisitive eyebrow and openly thins his lips at him. Right. They’d talk about it later.

-

Cas seems to like toast. Plain, simple toast. No butter, no spread, nothing.

It should have been strange to see him eat, but after seeing him consume so many burgers during their fight with Famine, Dean had gotten used to it. In fact, it looked natural.

Well, it would, if his eyes were open.

“Are you gonna start talking?” He says in a low voice to Sam, who’s cleaning dishes next to him. Sam looks up at him, then over to Castiel. With a shrug, he goes back to washing the dishes.

“He told me it made him feel better. Like he was just walking around with his eyes closed, you know?”

Dean presses his hands into the counter behind him and rests the base of his spine against the edge, watching as Cas takes another bite out of his toast. He’s hunched over and back into his trenchcoat – something that he had insisted on keeping. Perhaps it made him feel like he was still an angel.

“What about the PG-rated groping?” Dean throws back at Sam. He receives a flick of bubbles to his face in response.

“I figured he needs to get used to human contact,” Sam replies, scrubbing the last plate and settling onto the draining board with a clatter. Dean wipes away the suds from his face with the back of his sleeve with a quick smirk and looks back over to Cas. He’d finished his toast and was patting around on the table for his glass of milk.

“He needs to get used to not being able to see when someone’s going to touch him,” Sam adds, wiping his hands on a towel. Dean scowls at him.

“Why? You think he’ll be like this…” He trails off. He was going to say _forever_ , but it seemed like such a strange term to use in relation to Cas. Cas didn’t have forever now – just a lifetime.

There’s a clunk, the sound of liquid spreading across wood and then a long, drawn out scraping noise. Dean twists round just in time to see a glass roll to the floor and shatter.

Cas is rigid in his chair, hand frozen in the air. He’s knocked over his glass of milk

“I’ll get it,” Sam hurries forwards and crouches, picking up the large chunks of glass and collecting them in his palm. Dean watches dejectedly for a moment, feeling very much like a kid whose ice cream had been taken, though he has no idea why. Quickly, he retracts another glass and fills it with milk.

He works his way around the spread of shards and takes Castiel’s hand, pressing the milk into it.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean reassures stiffly, unsure of why he feels the need to comfort him. He turns to walk away, but a hand shoots out to grab the sleeve of his jacket. He looks over his shoulder and watches as Cas opens his eyes. They’re unfocused, staring somewhere just above Dean’s head.

“Thank you.” He sounds almost… wrecked. Dean looks down to where he’s grasping his jacket and gently peels it from his grip. He turns away. _Not yet._

“Dean.”

Dean clenches his jaw. _You know that if you call my name, I’ll listen._

“I wish I could see you both.”

Sam freezes on the floor and lifts his watering, puppy-dog eyes to the broken angel. Dean doesn’t want to turn around. He doesn’t want to look at him, not when he’s so close. _So close to forgiving. Not this early._

 _See you both._ He wants to see Sam, too. That’s what slammed so hard into the wall of uncertainty in his head. His little brother means as much to Cas as he did.

“You boneheads alright in there?” Bobby calls from the living room. He’s slurring. Throwing a one-sided celebration by himself, most probably. After all, there’s no more big battle hanging over their heads.

Just one, blind, human angel.

-

“I understand the functionality of human anatomy,” Castiel sounds exasperated and he shrugs off Sam’s concerned hand. Dean walks in on this scene while wiping his dirty hands on a ragcloth – his baby had needed work and he’d been spending the afternoon on it. He’d finished cleaning the rims, rearranging the trunk (into a more disorderly mess), oiling the doors (the squeak was a lot more prominent now) and cleaned out the interior (blood stains were a bitch), until he literally had no other option but to go back inside.

Where he was now watching an amusing scene unfold.

“Cas, what if you…” Sam trails off and coughs awkwardly. He sends Dean a pleading glance, but Dean just stares back blankly. Sam sighs. “If you know how to… use it, then you should know that if you can’t see, you’ll… miss.”

Dean finds himself enjoying the pink flush that spreads across Sam’s cheeks. _His prudishness is adorable._

“I’ll find other means.” And then Cas walks away with an alarming amount of confidence, considering he _can’t see_.

The bold, aggressive image is thoroughly shattered when he collides with the doorframe.

Sam steps forwards jerkily, but Dean just lets out a loud laugh. He can’t hold it back – it erupts through the pit of grief in his stomach and suddenly, he’s in hysterics, clutching hold of the counter beside him. He wraps one arm around his stomach and laughs until tears are prickling at the corners of his eyes.

Once again, it’s Cas who involuntarily makes him laugh harder than he ever has in his life.

He slowly regains his composure, only to find Sam frowning at him in immense disapproval. He ignores it, grin fading away, and looks at Cas.

His eyes are closed and he’s  smiling. If it could even be called that – a slight turn up of his lips that looks like someone has attached string to the corners and pulled them upwards. He doesn’t even seem to register the fact that his forehead now had a gentle, protruding lump with a speck of blood trickling down it.

“Ouch,” Castiel says simply, lifting a hand to dab at the lump. This almost sends Dean into another fit of laughter, so he coughs to cover up the bark of amusement that threatens to spill out. He can’t wipe the smile off of his face, though.

He shakes his head and turns to open the fridge, pulling out a cool beer He refuses to believe that the reason he now feels so light is due to the large bout of laughter he had just spewed. When he turns back, Castiel is gone and Sam’s watching him, a gentle, knowing smile on his face.

Dean pulls a face. “Are you gonna start talking about feelings? Because if you are, I’m outta here—“

“—Come on, Dean. Admit it.”

“Admit what?”

Sam tilts his head and engages the _‘you know what I’m talking about’_ face. Dean sends him the ‘ _I actually fucking don’t’_ look in response. Sam lets out a frustrated sigh.

“You’ve forgiven him. Hell, you forgave him the moment he says sorry to you back in that warehouse—“

“—We’re not talking about this,” Dean snaps. His good mood has swiftly evaporated at the mention of Cas and _forgiveness_. He leaves his beer bottle on the counter and throws the ragcloth in his hand over his shoulder. _There had to be more things to do to the Impala…_

He stalks past Sam towards the back door and goes to haul it open, but a hand clamps down on his wrist. He looks up in surprise. Sam is next to him, and _fuck does he look angry._

“Do you have any idea how childish you’re being?” His voice is tight strung, tense and the hand that’s gripping Dean’s trembles with restrained rage. “Do you know what he did for you? For us?”

_‘He saved your ass, he saved your brothers ass, he saved the world’s ass and he saved Heaven’s ass. Look what he got for it.’_

Dean never thought he’d see the day when he starting hearing _Gabriel’s_ voice pushing at the back of his mind like some irritating itch. He can’t draw his eyes away from Sam’s – they’re blazing with… protectiveness. A fierce protectiveness.

He’d seen it in his own eyes.

“Sam, there something you wanna tell me?” He asks in a low voice, highly aware of the almost-painfully tight grip on his hand. Sam’s nostrils flare and he tears his hand away from Dean’s, the ridge of his jaw throbbing. Dean continues to watch him with a deadly intensity, taking a step away from the door to get closer to his brother. “Do you… Are you kidding me? You have feelings for Cas?”

Sam snaps his head around and the immensely horrified expression on his face immediately dispels Dean’s suspicions.

“No! No- that’s not it. I…” The anger quickly fades and instead, is replaced with a flustered irritation, “Dean… You’re my older brother.”

Dean’s head tilts forwards and he waits patiently for Sam to elaborate. When he doesn’t, Dean shuffles uncomfortably.

“So?”

“ _So,_ I’ve...” Sam sighs and throws a hand in the air, “I’ve never had a little brother before and it’s nice to be able to look after someone instead of being the one who’s being looked after, alright?”

He speaks quickly, but Dean picks everything up. Dean goes rigid. _Oh._

“You… you actually _like_ taking care of Cas?” Dean lets out a huff of humourless, but relieved laughter. “Well, how nice of you, Nanny McPhee.”

Sam sends him a weird look. “I… don’t know who that is.” He runs a hand through his hair and frowns at Dean’s expression. “I don’t expect you to understand, Dean. You’re not the one who has to watch someone else take responsibility for your mistakes. Cas doesn’t have anyone who’ll do that for him. Not anyone who’ll admit it, anyway.”

Dean straightens up and schools his expression into one that’s unreadable. Did Sam know how much that stung?

“Yeah, I do. And I’m gonna keep doing it.”

“Get the fuck out of my head, Sammy.”

Sam snorts and smacks his brother on his arm.

“You’re an open book. Don’t need to see inside your head to know what’s going on in there.”

Dean can’t help but smile at his brother. This was how he wanted it. Just the two of them, free banter and no impending doom over their shoulders. He’d do anything to be back in the Impala, next to him, laughing freely and listening to classic rock. But that wasn’t an option. Not now they had Cas.

“So what’s on the agenda? We just gonna bum around Bobby’s until we’re as old as him?” Dean jibes, returning to his lonely beer. He glances over at Bobby, who had passed out on the couch, a smile plastered across his face.

“I dunno. I guess we need to let Cas adjust and then….” Sam hesitates, which is always a sign that he’s about to say something that he doesn’t think Dean will like. Dean waits patiently for him to continue. “…We could teach him how to hunt.”

Well, he wasn’t expecting that.

“Sam, he can’t _see—“_

 _“_ Yeah, exactly. So we teach him how to fight without his eyes.”

It was a marvel how Sam managed to say it with a straight face, and with a deadly seriousness. Dean sniffs and places the beer on the counter behind him.

“Yeah. You know what? _Fine._ It’s not like we could spend our time doing something useful.” Dean’s voice drips with sarcasm, but he finds himself not completely opposed to the idea. Extra help on a hunt was never a bad thing and it would be a thrilling challenge. He resists the urge to smirk.

It would also give him a reason to take control over Cas, and he knew how much he hated that.

“I’ll do it.”

Dean looks past Sam’s shoulder and see’s Castiel standing in the doorway, his eyes closed. His head doesn’t stop moving, like he’s searching for them in the darkness. He steps towards them.

“I want to be of use, even in this state,” he gestures down at himself and his shoulders slump forwards in defeat. Sam watches him with his gleaming, kid-on-Christmas-day eyes and Dean snorts to himself, ignoring the rush of warmth he feels through his chest. It was nice to see Sam so dedicated to something, even if that something was a backstabbing angel.

“Great. So, where do we start? Throwing knives?” Dean smirks at Sam, who swerves around and settles a glare on him. He shrugs his shoulders – it’s not like he’d said anything offensive.

“Something more basic, perhaps,” Cas suggests, obviously missing Dean’s joke.

“Can you sense when someone’s near you?” Sam moves forwards and hovers his hand above Cas’s shoulder. Dean watches intently, ignoring the twinge of hope he feels in his gut. Cas jerks his head to the side and, if his eyes had been open, Dean’s sure he’d have looked directly at Sam.

It was unnerving.

“I… I believe, if I concentrate. You are standing next to me, Sam.”

Sam shifts back slightly in surprise, his hand drooping slightly. He keeps it above Cas’s shoulder, though.

Dean didn’t hide the shock that spread across his face. He shares a glance with Sam and then slowly begins to move forwards, tiptoeing lightly across the tiled flooring. Cas was probably relying on sound and smell, so Dean cups his mouth too, stifling the smell of alcohol on his breath.

He’s within a few feet of Cas when Cas’s head jolts sideways.

“Dean.” He sounds slightly baffled at his own accuracy. Dean lets out a breath of disbelief.

“Damn, he’s good.”

“So, we’re doing this then?” Sam rubs his hands together and looks between Dean and Cas, excitement bright behind his eyes. Dean tears his gaze away from Cas and nods at him.

“Yeah, we’re doing this.”

-

Dean had to admit, there was something mildly pleasing about sparring with Cas, especially when he couldn’t see. Sam had thrown him a warning looks, but Dean had carelessly thrown them off.

He was going all out, letting his anger shine through his punches. Though he didn’t punch with enough power to seriously injure the angel, there was enough to bruise. Now Cas would know what it felt like to ache constantly and not be able to do anything about it.

Though – and he wouldn’t admit this to Sam – he was hitting almost as much as he was missing. He tried not to be impressed, but he was. _Damn it, he was._

Because Cas swung and swerved around, dodging and hitting back in movements that were mesmerizingly smooth. When he had his Grace, his movements had been jittery, like he didn’t quite belong in the body. Now, he was fluid – he may not have had his holy Grace, but he still fought with a type of grace that Dean couldn’t deny.

Dean leans over with his hands pressed to his knees, inhaling as much of the dank, hot, evening air as he could. The sun’s setting and is casting obscure shadows across the junkyard. If they stayed out any longer, Dean figured him and Cas would be on even ground. Neither of them would be able to see.

“Alright, I’m spent,” he straightens and lets out a gentle moan. He now had a few more bruises on top of the bruises he already had. Cas is panting too, one of his shoulders poking out of his trenchcoat where it had slipped down his arm. _Christ,_ he looked so ruffled and human.

Sam stands up from where he had perched himself on the steps and stretches, hopping off them to walk across the yard towards them. His gaze roams over Cas’s dishevelled form.

“You alright, Cas? Should we go inside?”

“No, let’s continue.”

Dean shakes his head and breathes in one last suck of oxygen, blinking away a droplet of sweat that travelled down his brow and into his eye.

“You’re gonna kill yourself, man.” He knew how exhausted he felt, but knew it wouldn’t compare to how bad Cas felt. He’d never experienced human fatigue, so he wouldn’t know when to stop.

“I’m fine,” he huffs, straightening himself up. Dean lets out a sigh and walks away. _Try to show the guy some compassion and he shoves it back in my face. Whatever._

Sam smiles at him as they pass each other, but Dean pretends not to notice. _Haven’t forgiven Cas. Won’t._

He slowly settles himself onto the steps, shrugging off his jacket and using it to wipe off the dirt and sweat around his face. Wow, he _ached._

He eases himself back onto the veranda, propped up by his elbows. The sun has ducked low behind the trees and the sky is a vibrant orange. A light breeze blows over him and he finds himself smiling, watching as Sam slowly approaches Cas.

It was dangerously perfect, this moment. Dangerous, because when he saw Cas and Sam standing together like that, preparing themselves, he realised that it really wouldn’t be the same without this strange new addition to the family.

This human, broken angel was what he and Sam had needed to fill the black caverns that had carved inside their stomachs since their dads death. Cas was the thing that occupied the weird emptiness of the backseat in the Impala; he was what Dean saw out of the corner of his eye when he was alone in the motel room; he was the subject of Sam’s ‘little brother’ fantasies.

And while he had done terrible, terrible things, Dean really wouldn’t have given him up for the world.

Dean’s tired eyes watches as Castiel peels the coat from his sweating body. He jerks up a little straighter, waiting with a slight tingle of excitement that he can’t quite decipher. The suit jacket comes next. Cas eases it off, revealing the white shirt. It presses in places where he’s begun to sweat – the planes of his shoulder blades are like shadows beneath the clear material.

Dean swallows, watching as the muscles twitch when Cas throws the clothing into what seems to be a random direction. The clothes end up on the bonnet of a nearby car.

His composure is shattered. Dean is detached from the rational sense of his mind as he watches Cas widen his stance, the primp trousers spreading tightly across his thighs. He isn’t even aware that he’s admiring Castiel in a sense that definitely isn’t normal – or rather, normal for him.

The sparring match has Dean’s unbroken attention. Sam’s large, clunky body towers over Cas’s, but Cas doesn’t seem to be intimidated – it probably helps that he can’t see him. Sam throws a gentle punch towards Cas’s head, but he ducks before it can come into contact with him. How he did it is still a puzzle to Dean, but it just makes the fight more interesting.

“Come on, Sammy,” he jeers. Sam casts him an amused glance before sweeping out his leg. He catches Cas this time, sending him straight to the floor. Dean watches Sam expression change rapidly into one of concern and he bends over to pamper his opponent.

Nothing could have prepared Sam for Cas’s next move – the angel reaches out and tugs Sam to the floor by his wrist, while at the same time using him as leverage to clamber to his feet.

Sam lay, defeated, on the ground.

Dean can’t help letting out a victorious laugh and scrambles to his feet. He isn’t going to pass up this opportunity to poke fun at Sam. As he approaches them, he notices that Sam is covered in dust, his face scrunched up in disgust. The sand has stuck to the sweat on his face and when he wipes a hand over it, he only succeeds in making it worse.

“Would you look at that, Sam - Cas can kick your ass and he can’t even see.” Dean pokes his brother in the ribs with his foot playfully and grins when Sam smacks his foot away.

“Shut up.”

He only glances at Cas for half a second, but the moment he tears his gaze away, it immediately goes back to him.

His hair is tousled, as it had been when they had first met, but that isn’t what catches Dean’s attention. It’s the gentle sheen of sweat over his features, a few smudges of dirt here and there. The white shirt has opened just below the base of his neck, revealing a smooth expanse of chest that’s just _wrong._ Seeing Cas so open and shed of layers is strange – or rather, the reaction Dean’s having to it is strange.

“Dean’s staring at you, Cas.”

Dean jerks his foot out and kicks Sam in the ribs, sending him to the floor again. Sam lets out a painful laugh and rolls over.

“Dean?” Cas asks. God, he probably thought he had a question or something.

“You...” he clears his throat, “you need a shower.”

Cas’s head tilts – _still a powerful movement, even without his eyes–_ and he lifts a hand to rub the back of his head. Dean watches the hair entwine itself around the fingers and swallows.

“A shower?”

“Yeah. You know, stand under water, get clean—”

“I’m aware,” Castiel cuts in, sounding slightly rattled. Dean snaps his mouth shut and throws a baffled look at him.

“Well, alright then. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“My pants are not twisted—”

“It’s a saying, Cas,” Sam’s on his feet and stands next to Dean, punching him on the bicep. “For the kick.”

“Hey, you deserved that.”

The three of them head across the scrapyard in a companionable silence, though Dean goes rigid when Cas swerves too close to his side and _what the hell._ He can’t stop himself thinking it: _he smells nice._

Hot sand, fresh sweat and something warm and sugary that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

 _Yeah, that’s not gay at all,_ Dean curses himself, though he does find his thoughts more amusing than disconcerting. Hell, he’d thought about how Sam smelt to himself sometimes (though they were usually envious thoughts – how did the guy make himself smell so nice while Dean walked around smelling like he’d walked out of some gay bar?)

He’s knocked out of his thoughts – seemed to be happening a lot lately – when Cas catches his foot and stumbles. Dean’s quick reflexes makes his hand shoots out almost immediately and he grasps Cas around the bicep, straightening him back up. He sends an angry glance towards Sam, who he had figured would be leading him. He receives a confused look in response.

“Aren’t you supposed to be his guide dog?” He barks. Sam purses his lips.

“No, Dean, I’m supposed to be a _friend_ helping him out. And Cas has already made it clear he doesn’t need to be tugged everywhere. Right, Cas?”

Castiel’s head has dipped in the direction of his left arm, where Dean’s grip has tightened. He seems surprised by it. Dean quickly pulls his hand back, shoving it into his pocket as casually as possible.   

“Yeah, well, he’s not gonna be any good to us if he gets a face full of gravel.” Dean looks around, then runs his eyes up and down Cas’s figure. _Ah. That would work._

He leans forwards and grasps Castiel’s hand, pulling it towards the belt loop on the back of his jeans. He ignores the quick rise of Sam’s eyebrows.

“We got belt loops, right? Well, he can hold onto them and let go when he wants to. No pressure,” Dean starts to walk to demonstrate. Castiel walks steadily behind him, not bothering to hide the gentle smile that graces his lips.

Sam lets out a gentle snort. “Yeah, that works. Alright, Cas?”

“I’m fine,” he replies, though there was no mistaking the pleased tone in his voice. Dean’s glad no one else can see him – he has this indescribably goofy smile on his face, though he can’t figure out why.

Sam follows slowly behind them and on his face is a smile.

A smile that mirrors his brothers.

-

“Geez, I thought you’d grown outta the stage where you come into my perfectly clean house covered in dirt,” Bobby shakes his head, “Guess I was wrong.”

Sam grins at him and Dean slaps him on the arm, leaving a grimy mark on his shirt.

“Never too old, Bobby. How you hangin’?” He jokes, knowing that Bobby has only recently recovered from his drunken consciousness. Bobby waves a hand at him.

“Nothin’ an old drunk like me can’t handle. You three gonna go and dirty up my shower any time soon? You pretty boys need to keep your locks clean.”

“You mean Sammy needs to keep his locks clean,” Dean responds. He waves a hand through the air by his head, imitating the models he’d seen in shampoo advertisements. He laughs loudly at Sam’s embarrassed, agitated expression.

“Hey, don’t think I haven’t seen you preenin’ yourself, idgit,” Bobby lectures playfully. Dean’s humour evaporates and then he’s on the end of Sam’s snickering and imitations.

“Pretty?”

The three men turn to look over their shoulders at Castiel, who’s standing with a crease of confusion settled between his brow. His thumb’s still hooked into Dean’s jeans. Dean frowns and moves away so Cas’s hand slumps back to his side.

“Yeah. You three look like you’re jumped outta some prissy teen magazine,” Bobby mocks, shoving his hands into the pockets of his bodywarmer. Cas still looks confused.

“I don’t understand. How do you know when someone’s pretty?”

Dean shakes his head in disbelief and Bobby mutters something under his breath. Sam seems to take sympathy on Cas, however, and despite the fact the three of them are standing in the kitchen covered in dirt, he begins to explain.

“Um… when you see someone who you like to look at, sometimes I guess you could call them pretty. Like, I think women with long red hair look pretty.”

Dean snorts and Sam ignores him when he mutters ‘such a girl’ underneath his breath. Bobby shakes his head, wanders over to the other side of the kitchen and starts to prepare himself a sandwich.

“So how does Bobby know I’m pretty? I’m not a woman and I don’t have long red hair—“

“—You’ve got the looks that other guys would kill for,” Dean chips in before Sam can start speaking. The last thing he wants is for Sam to start giving Cas a girly lecture. “You’ve got those really blue eyes. Pretty freaky when you stare at someone for too long, but I dunno, chicks probably like that kinda thing. And your skin looks sorta smooth,” Dean moves closer, tilting his head to the side as he examines him. He lets out a breathless laugh. “Sex hair. Like you’ve just come out of some heavy make-out session. And you’re like a lost puppy. Girls dig that stuff…“

“You’re well-built. I mean. You’re not like me or Dean, but there’s muscle there,” Sam cuts in. Dean nods and runs his gaze back over Cas, looking for another feature he can point out. He’d be damned if he was gonna let Sam get the last word in. While Sam occupies himself with a sip of water, he looks over Cas’s face. Then freezes.

“Ugh, your lips,” Dean clears his throat and pretends that he isn’t about to blush. “Your lips, they’re a bit… just… kissable, you know?”

Sam splutters on his drink, the laughter bubbling out before he can swallow the water. Dean frowns as ferociously as he can at him.

“Shut up, Sammy.”

“I’m sorry—” He erupts into a coughing fit and even Bobby starts to snigger in the corner of the kitchen. “Sure. _I’m_ the girl.”

Dean clenches his jaw. Right, okay. So, he tries to be nice and explain things to Cas, then gets mocked for it?

“Whatever,” he huffs and storms out of the kitchen. _Screw them. I’m having the first shower._

“Hey, Dean, you don’t want to kiss Cas goodbye?” Sam yells after him.

“Go fuck yourself, Sam,” he shouts back, stamping his feet on the stairs for angry emphasis.

Sam listens to the slam of the bathroom door and can’t help letting out another laugh. He catches Cas standing still in the corner of his eye and turns to look at him. The angel looks thoughtful, his fingers brushing delicately over his lips.

“You okay?” Sam asks him.

“Fine,” he replies gruffly, snatching his hand away from his lips, like he’d been caught doing something private. Sam spares him one more concerned glance before retreating to Bobby’s side, leaving the angel wrapped in his thoughts.

 


	2. Curiosity

A week later, Cas is having trouble adjusting to human life and _still_ can’t see.

Dean’s out of his mind – living in a close proximity with three other men and having no way to vent? Yeah, it wasn’t nice. He was constantly high strung. The only thing that was a comfort and refreshing change was the fact that Cas would get confused over the smallest things, allowing him to mock, poke fun and explain with an irritated tone.

He wouldn’t let anybody know that he was far from irritated. He actually enjoyed these little moments. For once, the angel knew nothing and Dean knew all. It made him feel clever.

“I don’t understand why you would eat them if they taste this bad,” Castiel drops his fork onto his plate with a clatter and folds his arms over chest. Dean smirks victoriously at Sam and successfully hides his amusement behind a cough.

“They help the body stay strong,” Sam explains exasperatedly. “Provides you with loads of different—”

“Want some pizza?” Dean interrupts, placing a slice of pizza onto Cas’s plate.

“Dean.” Sam snaps, watching painfully as Castiel lifts it and takes a large bite. Dean snorts and leans back against the wall, reaching over to the table next to him to pick up his last slice. He’d ordered it in protest to Sam’s planned lunch of rabbit food, after insisting they teach Cas about the ways of nutrition.

_Pffft, whatever._

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas mumbles over a mouthful, chewing happily. Dean allows a punch of joy to hit him in the gut and grins at Sam, whose hard gaze has softened. Dean looks away, intently focusing on the toppings that are on his pizza.

_Doesn’t mean anything. Only gave him pizza so the poor guy wouldn’t starve._

“So, Cas, you want to go out and get some clothes later?” Sam suggests, leaning forwards across the table. He clasps his hands together and Dean smirks at the poorly-hidden excitement on his face. _Such a girl…_

“I already have clothes,” Cas frowns, running an oily hand along the inside of his thigh, wiping off some of the grease. Dean’s eyes follow the movement, pizza slice half-poised in front of his mouth.

“Dean?”

Dean blinks and looks at Sam, who’s staring at him in confusion. In a haste to cover up his embarrassment, Dean takes an over-sized chomp of his pizza and grins with his mouth full. Sam cringes.

“Gross, dude,” he turns back to Cas, “You’re gonna need some of your own clothes. You can’t keep wearing that suit.”

“I like it,” Cas retorts touchily, popping the last bit of pizza into his mouth.

“Yeah, but what if it rips while we’re on a hunt? What if you get blood on it? And you’ll start to smell,” Sam presses on, eyebrow twitching in annoyance. Dean’s impressed with Cas’s ability to irritate his brother – he did it without even trying. Becoming human had definitely improved Cas’s ability to manipulate human emotions.

“Hey, let the guy have his suits. We’ll just go get more,” Dean shrugs, throwing the unwanted crust of his pizza into his box. He wipes his hands on a napkin and smiles. “Nothing suits him like a suit.”

His reference falls on deaf ears. Cas moves his head around into his general direction, though.

“I’d like that.”

Sam lets out a defeated sigh and sits back in his chair, pointedly scowling at Dean.

Dean opens his mouth to ask what his problem is, but Cas stands up abruptly.

“I need to urinate,” he states simply and storms out of the room, trench coat flapping behind him. Dean and Sam watch him carefully as he leaves the room.

“He needs a lesson on what not to say to other dudes,” Dean says, pointing out the door after him. Sam nods, though he keeps on frowning. Dean taps his fingers against the wall and looks around the kitchen, pretending that he hasn’t noticed the gaze that is trained on him. He lets out a sigh.

“Seriously, what?”

“Do you even know you’re doing it?” Sam says, smiling humourlessly. Dean’s expression twists into one of confusion. When Sam doesn’t continue his explanation, he throws his hands out in front of him.

“What?”

“You’re sucking up to him, Dean. Pampering him like a little kid,” Sam seems to find his innocence amusing and straightens in his chair, his agitated expression fading. Dean snorts disbelievingly.

“What? No, I’m not.”     





Sam tilts his head. “Oh? So, you weren’t pampering him when he fell asleep on you and you took him to bed? Or when you let him hold onto your belt loop? And giving him pizza to keep him quiet? That doesn’t sound like normal Dean behaviour.”

Dean swallows, ignoring the completely rational part of his mind that tells him Sam has a point.

“And you haven’t? Tugging him round like some lost puppy? Telling him to eat his vegetables?” Dean nervously turns Sam’s accusation back at him, throwing his hand into the direction of the table, where Cas’s vegetables lay untouched. Sam looks slightly surprised, but a wistful smile spreads over his face.

“Huh. I guess we’re both acting a little strange.”

There’s a short silence as they absorb this.

“Well, it’s not every day you get given a blind, human angel to take care of.” Dean and Sam share a sympathetic, gentle smile that says more things than they could put into words. _They were acting like concerned parents._

They both jerk when a loud hammering on the front door resounds through the house. Sam’s on his feet and Dean’s alert – that hadn’t been a pleasant knock.

Bobby potters through the kitchen, shotgun grasped tightly in his hand.

“Where’s the angel?” He whispers to them. Sam points at the ceiling.

He seems to get the message. All three men freeze up again when the hammering on the door becomes louder and more insistent.

“Bobby, open up!”

Bobby’s grip goes slack on his shotgun and his alarmed gaze darts between the boys and the door.

“That’s Butch. What in the hell is he doin’ here?” Bobby throws the shotgun onto the table noisily and starts to move forwards.

“Bobby, wait,” Sam steps forwards, voice low.

“What? He’s an old pal, Sam, he ain’t hurtin’ nobody.” Bobby hurries out of the kitchen and into the hallway. Sam and Dean exchange cautious looks.

 _That doesn’t sound like friendly knocking,_ Dean thinks to himself, moving aside to pick up Bobby’s discarded shotgun. There’s a click and then a bang as Bobby opens the front door. As predicted, seconds later a well-built, ugly-looking man bursts into the kitchen, eyes wild and searching.

“Where is it?” He growls angrily. Bobby swings around the corner, rage carved into every feature on his face.

“Butch, what in the bleedin’ hell do you think you’re doin’?”

Butch swerves around to glare at Bobby.

“Where is it? The freaky angel.”

Dean’s glad Butch’s back was turned because his entire body went rigid at the mention of Cas. Bobby manages to keep his composure, luckily, and feigns confusion.

“What? Angel? Are you out of your freakin’ mind?”

“Don’t play with me, Bobby Singer.” Butch is frighteningly intimidating – Dean has no idea how Bobby can remain so straight-faced when he’s shadowed by the bulky form.

“I ain’t playin’ with nobody. It’s just me and my boys,” Bobby peers around Butch to glance at the both of them. They exchange meaningful glances. “Now I’d like you to leave before one of ‘em puts a round of shotgun shells in your ass.”

Butch looks behind him, finally acknowledging Dean’s presence and the sawed-off shotgun in his hands. He takes in Dean’s furious glare and snorts, like the look doesn’t affect him at all.

“Right, sure,” Butch makes his way into the hallway, but stops when he reaches the stair’s banister. “I should tell you that I’m here for a reason. That bitch of an angel is the reason my partner’s dead—”

“—Willy’s dead?” Bobby asks, though he seems more surprised than sympathetic. Dean lets out a quiet, childish snicker at the name, earning him a disapproving look from Sam.

“Yeah and your buddy’s to blame. Filthy vamp knew we had connections to you, so tortured him until he bled through his eyes. They made me watch, Singer,” Butch’s voice catches, “they cut off each of his fingers, but he didn’t know. He didn’t know that you were fucking about with the angel, so they killed him.”

Dean feels no remorse for the man in front of him and walks forwards until he’s standing in the doorway, Sam following behind him.

“Hey, jackass. You think that it’s this ‘angel’s’ fault that you and your partner got caught?” Dean says warily, hoping he can keep the situation hypothetical. Butch just glares at him. “No one forced you to know Bobby and we’re not gonna take the blame for your stupid mistakes.”

“You asshole—” Dean holds up the shotgun, face contorted in an expression of anger. Man, was he sick to fucking _death_ of being held responsible for everything. Butch clenches his jaw and stands in his cut-off jeans and dirty shirt, bushy brows furrowed in anger.

“Doesn’t matter anyway. I told them I’d find it for them. And I have. It’s here, I know it,” Butch lets out a shiver-inducing, humourless laugh before looking blankly at Dean, “You’re like a frightened little mother bird protecting its last egg.”

Well, he obviously wasn’t hiding his concern as thoroughly as he’d thought.

Dean clenches the shotgun tighter in his hands. He doesn’t want to shoot the guy, but if he let him go, Bobby would have a hoard of vamps on him within the hour. _What did vampires want with Cas?_

“I’ll be leaving now, I guess. You’ve got a little date planned with—” There’s a swish, a clunk, and then Butch falls lifelessly to the floor with a thump. Sam, Dean and Bobby stare both in confusion and amazement at the body for a few seconds, before looking up to examine the assailant.

Castiel’s standing half-way down the stairs with the base of a table lamp clutched in his hands. His expression is blank and his eyes are closed – he oozed angel, though Dean knew that couldn’t be true.

“He is unconscious?” Castiel asks, shoulders still tense.

“ _Yeah_ , he’s unconscious! What the hell, Cas?” Dean throws the shotgun onto the nearest end table and moves forwards, poking the huge body with his foot.

“He brought them here. The vampires. That has put Bobby in danger. I suggest we leave as soon as possible,” Cas bends down slowly and fumbles a bit with the lamp stand, leaving it perched on the step. “Bobby, it would be wise to vacate the house for a few days. We will leave a trail for them to follow so they won’t return to you—”

“Cas, what’s going on?” Dean interrupts irritably, warily glancing to the body at his feet. Castiel seems almost reluctant to explain.

“It would appear that certain creatures have discovered about the Alphas and my part in their kidnapping. There will be more than just vampires searching for me,” Cas’s voice is completely empty of all emotion. Dean curses under his breath.

Because of Cas, they have to run. Run and fight until every last stinking supernatural piece of shit who knew about him was dead.

“This isn’t good,” Sam mutters to no one in particular. Bobby glances at the three of them.

“Well, thanks to you three idgits, I’ve got to leave my own house in the hands of some blood-suckers. Hope you’re happy,” he steps over Butch’s body in the hallway and sweeps past Cas on the stairs towards his room.

“It’s alright, Cas. We’re in this together,” Sam assures the tired-looking angel. Dean holds back his cringe – _always so overdramatic, Sam._

Dean clenches his jaw and scratches the back of his head.

“Guess we better get moving.”

-

He shuffles, kicks the back of Dean’s seat, sighs, presses his head to the window, drums his fingers along his leg and Dean just _snaps._

 _“_ What the hell is wrong with you?” Dean turns in the passenger seat to glare at Castiel.

Cas’s fingers freeze on his leg and he turns his head towards Dean.

“Has this method of travel always been this slow?”

Dean doesn’t hide the mild offense he takes to Cas’s comment. His baby wasn’t _slow._

“There’s a speed limit. Why?” He says slowly, allowing his annoyance to shine through his words. Cas’s lips just tightens and he turns away, pressing his head against the window once more.

“I am restless.”

“Dude, he’s probably bored,” Sam interjects, quickly glancing into the rear view mirror.

“Bored?” Cas repeats with confusion. Dean opens his mouth to begin to explain, but the words catch in his throat. There was no way to explain it.

“Yeah. Um, human’s need to stay entertained or they start feeling agitated and edgy. Like how you’re feeling at the moment,” Sam explains with ease from the driver’s seat. Dean glares at him.

First he insists that he drives – Dean had only drunk _a few_ beers – and now he was trying to make him look stupid?

“Want to pull over for a little break? We’ve been on the road for a few hours now,” Dean suggests. He smiles when Cas’s lips twitch – he clearly likes the idea.

“But we need to put distance between us and the—”

“Can it, Sam. Let the cherub have a break.” Dean wiggles happily in his seat and turns back around to face the front. He doesn’t notice Sam’s sly, knowing look – he’s just glad he’s won. Again.

“I don’t enjoy being called a cherub,” Cas says quietly from the backseat.

They pull into a rather classy-looking motel and Dean climbs out of the car, his expression one of approval.

“Nice,” he elbows Sam in the ribs excitedly and spins round to face Cas, who has appeared behind him after slowly making his way around the car.

“Well?” Dean says.

Dean feels a tug on his jeans – Cas has gripped his belt loop. With a pleased smile, he hurries towards the entrance. The automatic doors slide open and he, Sam and Cas walk in, standing out amongst the white walls and tiled flooring.

They aren’t the only ones that stand out – the receptionist has straggled, greasy hair and looks like everything the motel _isn’t._ Her dull, muddy eyes never leave them as they approach the desk.

“Room for three?” Sam asks politely and Dean notices he’s trying hard not to judge the receptionist on her appearance.

The woman narrows her eyes at Dean and glances behind him speculatively at Cas, who is still grasping Dean’s trousers.

“You want one double and a single?”

Dean scowls and opened his mouth, a snarky remark on the tip of his tongue.

“No, just three singles please,” Sam hurriedly corrects, glancing warningly at Dean. Dean shakes his head, a disbelieving frown etched into his forehead. _Always with the homo assumptions._

The woman hands them the key to the room and jerks her head in the direction of a doorway. Sam nods his thanks and they make their way to their room.

When they unlock the door, nothing can stop the smile that spreads across Dean’s face. _Now this is a motel room._ Long beds covered in red bedsheets, a television from _this century_ , no mould and _wow, it smelt fresh._  

“I could get used to this,” Dean comments, heading over to a bed. He looks over his shoulder.

“Cas, you can let go now.”

Cas drops his hand back to his side, mouth downturned into an unsatisfied frown. Dean notices his unhappy expression and turns to face him fully.

“What’s up?” Sam asks – he’d noticed too. Dean doesn’t miss the way Sam spares an accusing glance in his direction.

“Hey, I didn’t do anything,” he protests.

“It’s not Dean. It’s this… blindness. It is becoming frustrating. I want to see why this room makes Dean so happy.” Cas’s shoulders fall forwards and Dean notices the curve of weariness there. Sam looks at him with big, sympathetic eyes. Dean just grits his teeth – _I am_ not _good at comforting people._

“Well tough. We can’t do anything about it, so quit complaining.”

“Dean!”

Dean shrugs at Sam. “You want me to pansy it up for him? He’s gotta deal with it the human way, like we’ve done from the beginning.”

 _That’s quite enough emotional crap for today,_ Dean tells himself, shrugging off his jacket and throwing it onto the nearest bed. He glances at a fancy-looking clock on the wall and blows out a huff of breath. It was only seven pm, but damn was he tired. He’d almost forgotten how exhausting it was to run from something.

“I’m beat. Gonna go freshen up. You can go next, wife,” he smiles at his own joke and ventures into their on-suite bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him.

Sam can see Cas’s confusion mirroring his own.

“I think he means you, Cas.”

-

Dean’s occupied with the television when Sam finally comes back from McDonalds, food in his hand.

“What you watching?”

Dean looks upwards, surprised that he hadn’t noticed his brother enter the room. He feigns innocence and throws a stiff hand towards the screen.

“Some show about two British gays who go round solving crimes. I was just channel surfing.”

“Channel surfing right. Like with Doctor Sexy?” Sam mocks, placing the bag on the table. He moves around so he has a good view of the television. His brow crinkles and he readjusts his footing, pointing at the screen.

“Hey, did that guy just say Sherlock?”

Dean shrugs.

“Dean, they’re not gay—”

“Whatever. Where’s the food?” He jumps off of the bed and looks around, pretending he isn’t annoyed that Sam had interrupted a very compelling episode. His eyes freeze on the figure stretched out on the bed next to his.

Cas is lying on his side, one hand under the pillow and the other draped across his waist. It’s hard to tell if he’s sleeping or not, since his eyes are always closed, but his shoulders are moving up and down in a steady rhythm.

“Is he sleeping?” Sam asks, walking to the foot of the bed. Dean blinks, still surprised that Cas had managed to fall asleep without him noticing.

“I guess. Think we should wake him up?” Sam shakes his head.

“Leave him. He needs the rest.” His eyes gleam with tenderness. Dean feels a surge of happiness of behalf of his brother – _still a kid in my eyes._

 After a short pause, Sam steps towards the end of the bed and starts to pull of Cas’s left shoe, warily glancing up every few seconds. Cas is dead to the world, though – he doesn’t even flinch. Sam starts to struggle with Cas’s right boot, so Dean moves forwards.

“Let me, you pansy,” he says, pushing Sam’s hands away. Instead of brutally yanking it off, he undoes the laces slowly and pulls it off, grasping Castiel’s ankle tenderly. He plonks the dark boot next to the other one on the floor and straightens up. His stomach rumbles.

Sam’s grinning at him when he reaches past him to where the bag of food sits. After he grasps it, he pulls back and spares Sam a questioning glance. He doesn’t say anything about the twinkle in his brother’s eye - he knows it’ll just lead to Sam saying something that will no doubt piss him off.

He seats himself into a pudgy armchair in the corner of the room and digs into the bag, pulling out his burger. Then he carelessly throws the bag onto the large round table a few feet away, not caring if it destroyed Sam and Cas’s food in the process.

“So, we got a plan?” Sam sits down on one of the wooden chairs that surround the table. Dean bites into his burger, brushing sauce away from the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

“We hightail it outta South Dakota, keep teaching Cas how to fight, then face the sons of bitches head on in an all-out beasty fest,” Dean splurges through a mouthful of burger. Sam’s nose wrinkles in disgust at his manners, but it’s his look of uncertainty that Dean focuses on.

“We can’t face them head on, Dean. We don’t know how many of them are gonna come after Cas.”

“Got any better ideas?” Dean chews heavily, taking another bite of his burger while his mouth is still full. Sam rests his elbow on the edge of the table and stares at his hand, brushing his finger and thumb together.

“I dunno,” Sam starts, eyes darting warily towards Dean. Dean stops chewing.

“What? If you’ve got an idea, share it with the class,” he says. Sam’s lips tighten and he lets out a sigh of defeat, jerking his hand into the air.

“We could lay low. Find a place, hang there for a while until the whole thing blows over.”

Dean stares at him incredulously.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Look, if there was ever a time for us to take the easy way out, it’d be now,” Sam leans forwards, settling a steady gaze on Dean, “We should do it. For Cas.”

Dean straightens up in the armchair, unaware of the subconscious tightening of his fingers. Some of the sauce from the burger spills out onto his fingers.

“We’re not gonna change the way we do things because of some stupid angel.” Dean takes another bite of his burger to cover up the sudden surge of guilt he feels at his own words. Sam turns away, looking pissed, but doesn’t call him out on his attitude. He just taps his hand on the table, jawbone throbbing.

“You know what, Dean?” Sam snaps his head around to stare down his brother, “We’re gonna do it my way. But staying in one place is too risky. We’ll move around for a couple of months, take out anything that comes our way.”

Dean bristles, but his eyebrows rise in mild surprise. Was Sammy standing up to him? _He was._ It sparks something in the centre of his chest and it’s that feeling that makes him think: _why not?_

“Alright. You’ve got the reins for this one, Sam. I’m sick of being in charge. I’m just gonna relax and be glad it’s not the world we’re saving,” he leans back in his chair and plops the last piece of burger in his mouth.

 _It’s not the world we’re saving,_ he thinks.

_Just Cas._

_-_

It’s dark outside. Dean, Sam and Cas have fled to another motel after a phone call from Bobby – some hunters had warned him about a couple of shapeshifters heading towards South Dakota.

They’d drove until they’d reached Sioux Falls, where they’d stopped in one of the more typical, worn down motels. The sun had sunk quickly behind the nearby woods and Dean sat in the shrouded, dank motel room with a cold beer pressed into his hot palm. Without air conditioning, the dark room was humid and stifling.

Sam’s sitting on his laptop doing God knows what – _porn,_ Dean’s mind provides him. The thought of Sam watching porn while in the same room as them is amusing and _totally_ not likely. Cas is tapping his fingers against his thigh, his mouth opening and closing every few seconds. Dean rubs at his brow.

“What is it, Cas?”

Castiel closes his mouth and brushes his fingers along the material of his new suit trousers. Dean watches the action, taking a large mouthful of beer to dampen his throat.

“Sam suggested I find a way to identify the two of you, should we fall under circumstances where neither of you can speak. I can usually rely on scent alone, but in such situations, that may not be enough.”

Dean sucks in his bottom lip and waits, glancing at Sam. Sam stares back. Cas doesn’t continue.

“So?” Dean prompts, returning his gaze to Castiel.

The angel stands hesitantly from his place on the bed and begins to slowly head towards where Dean is sitting. Dean watches cautiously and actually feels a shiver of anticipation trickle down his spine. His wide eyes look over to Sam, who’s smiling gently.

“I have done this with Sam already.” Castiel pauses in front of the couch where Dean’s sitting, lifting his hand from his side. Dean places the beer on the table beside the couch and eyes up the hand that’s coming towards him.

“Sammy?” Dean says, completely ignoring the way his voice is wobbly. Sam leans back in his chair and presses a button on his laptop. Scantily

“Relax, Dean, he’s not gonna hurt you.”

He doesn’t move. He’s motionless, watching as the hand treads carefully through the air until it brushes the side of his cheek. Seemingly confident now he knows where he is, Cas steps forwards once more, before gently lowering himself to his knees.

The softness of his palm presses against the roughness of Dean’s cheek and Dean finds his breath catching, unable to tear his eyes away from Cas’s face.

He clears his throat.

“I can remember the positioning of your features by touch,” Castiel says in a low voice, lifting his hand away. Then his fingers come back and dance across Dean’s forehead, brushing a few strands of hair away from his sweaty brow.

“You did this with Sam?” Dean asks hoarsely, his eyes fluttering shut. He jerks them back open. __

“Yes,” Castiel shuffles forwards on his knees, bringing his other hand up to rest on Dean’s shoulder. Fingers gently skitter down the side of Dean’s face, thumb brushing his eyelashes.

It’s hot – hotter than before – and Cas is close. __

Never having been in such proximity, Dean stares freely. He misses the wildly intense blue eyes; he runs his gaze along the sturdy, stubbly jaw; inhales the warm huffs of breath that skids over his face; focuses on the pale, chappedlips that are in front of him.

_Gotta get this kid some chapstick._

Cas’s fingers find Dean’s lips, dry skin catching on the dampness. Dean’s tongue darts out to moisten his already-damp lips, catching Cas’s thumb in the process. He’s unaware. They’re _close_ , damnit. _So close._ Pulling towards each other - _opposite ends of a spectrum, attracted like magnets –_ the air is muggy, his hands are limp and uneasy at his side.

He’s watching Cas, one corner of his lip turned up in amusement. He wants to throw a comment to Sam about how awkward it must have been for him. But he holds it in, finding the brush of Cas’s fingers slightly comforting.

 “Dean?”

Cas’s fingers have trickled down from his face to his throat. Light, tempting. _More,_ Dean’s mind suddenly shouts, making his eyes shoot open. _When had he closed them?_

He looks over to Sam. He isn’t grinning, like Dean had thought he would. He’s glancing between the two of them and _why did he look like he’s in pain?_ Dean’s eyes go back to Cas and roam over his crinkled brow – confused – and parted lips. _Parted lips…_

That’s where his eyes stay now – pinned unwillingly to the soft, plump mouth. _Kissable, I’d said._

 “Your body temperature is high.”

Dean considers Cas with mild surprise, then flashes his gaze back over to Sam. He’s staring at him now, brow tense and worried. _Did I miss something?_

The push of Castiel’s thumb on his jawline makes him turn his head back to him. When Cas tilts his head to one side, Dean draws back completely, retreating into the safety of the couch. He rubs his hand down his face and reaches over the table for his beer.

“We’re done here,” Dean states simply, wincing when he swallows a gulp of beer that’s too large for his throat to handle. Cas is still in front of him, hands pressed either side of Dean’s thighs on the couch. Dean swallows, gaze travelling from the tip of Cas’s knees, all the way to his mussed, hazardous hair.

“Personal space, Cas,” he manages to squeeze out. Dean’s hand instinctively twitches, like it wants to stretch out and grab Cas by the trenchcoat as he moves away. __

“Apologies,” Cas says, running his hand along the couch in order to find the edge. He stands and seats himself next to Dean. _Too close – thighs press together._

“I’m gonna go get some food,” Sam says tensely, scraping his chair across the floor loudly. Dean stares at his brother’s solid shoulders as he leaves the room, totally baffled.

_The fuck is his problem?_

-

Sam closes the door behind him and leans against it. He tilts his head back against the wood and allows a gentle smile to spread over his lips. His mind is assaulted by flashes of solid staring, eyes closing, shooting back open in confusion, Cas’s lips being the centre of attention.

_Oh, Dean…_

_-_

Dean and Sam are sitting opposite Cas at a roadside café that’s just a few minutes away from their hotel.

It’s been a week since they’d started running and tensions are running high. Sam’s staying distant and mysterious, eyeing up Dean in sympathy whenever he gets the chance. Dean’s noticed his brother’s strange behaviour and is just waiting for the huge reveal – it’s got to be something big, or he wouldn’t have kept so quiet for so long. Cas is becoming attuned to his blindness and his other senses seem to have improved, compensating for the lack of sight. Hearing, especially – he’d heard Dean walk up behind him on a carpeted floor in his socks.

“So, I’ve got another plan,” Sam says into the comfortable silence. Dean turns to listen to his brother, interest evident on his face.

“Yeah?” Dean replies, before taking one last bite of the pizza slice in his hand. He stretches across the table to place the crust into Cas’s open palm. Sam is distracted momentarily as he watches Cas take a bite out of it. Dean seems oblivious to this system that he and Cas have got going – he eats a slice of pizza, gives the crust to Cas.

“Uh…” Sam clears his throat, “We should hunt some of them. Go out and face some of them head on and take them out one-by-one, you know?”

Dean’s attention has returned to Castiel and he’s watching with a slight quirk to his lips as the angel chews through the pizza crust. Sam grits his teeth.

“Dean!”

Dean jerks his head back to Sam, amusement still pressed into his features.

“Sure, whatever, man.” He turns back to Cas, who accepts the water that Dean presses into his hand. Cas likes simple foods and drink. Anything that’s too overpowering makes him pull a face. The sudden use of taste buds was probably to blame.

“So you want to chase down these vamps that are in the area?” Sam asks tensely and a little louder than necessary. His tone catches Dean’s attention and his gaze flickers into Sam’s direction. He smirks.

“Yeah. It’s been too long since I killed something,” Dean says, leaning back in the seat of the booth. He calls over the waitress for the cheque and Sam watches her approach. She’s blonde, busty, showing an obscene amount of cleavage and wearing high heels that make her slender legs longer. Dean’s perfect type of woman.

Except when she comes over, bats her eyelashes, pushes her chest together, speaks seductively, Dean is completely oblivious. Doesn’t even spare her a glance, just watches as Cas lifts a hand to scratch his nose.

Sam snorts and folds his arms across his chest, looking between Dean and Cas like a speculative parent. It’s hard to see what’s going on inside Cas’s head – he’s unpredictable, his face is inexpressive and he rarely speaks unless he needs to.

Dean’s his brother. He’s been knocking around inside his head for years. And this – _this was new._

It’s ludicrous, and Sam knows he shouldn’t even be considering it. But the idea was becoming less and less outrageous by the second.

 _Did Dean_ like _Cas?_

_-_

“This is absurd,” Castiel’s hand clenches on the back of the armchair – it’s the only outward display of annoyance that he shows. Sam’s sitting out on this conversation, apparently. _Thanks, Sammy,_ Dean says through his helpless stare. Sam just smiles in return. _No problem, Dean._

Dean rubs at his brow with his hand and turns to Cas, who’s standing in between the two beds of the hotel room. He’s leaning backwards against the chair that’s in front of a shabby, half-broken desk. _Two beds… they’d deal with that later._

“You can’t come with us, Cas. They’re _hunting_ you. You think they’re gonna take any notice of me and Sam when they see you standing there with a neon sign saying ‘kill me’ on your forehead?”

“I can fight them off. I’m not useless,” Cas’s voice falters slightly and Dean wouldn’t have heard it had he not spent so much time with the angel.

“We know,” Sam decides to cut in. He probably heard Cas’s despair too. “We just can’t risk it. Not when you’re like this. You’re not good enough yet.”

Cas settles his other hand on the back of armchair and leans further back, gripping it tightly. _White-knuckled, hopeless, defeated anger._

“Of course. You’re right.” He doesn’t sound happy about admitting it, but he’s admitted it nonetheless. Dean resists slumping forward in relief – he hadn’t realised he was so tense. _Cas was gonna be safe._

 _“_ Just hang here until we get back, okay? Watch some TV,” Dean hesitates, “…or listen. Whatever.”

Sam’s frowning at him. Dean mouths ‘what’ at him, but just gets a blank stare in response. Without dropping his ‘you’re an idiot’ expression, Sam hauls himself out of his chair and leaves the hotel room, not waiting for Dean to catch up with him.

Dean’s about to leave, hand clutching the door knob, when he turns back to look at Cas. His head is sunk and there’s that utterly helpless look on his face – the one that had shot Dean’s confidence during their face-off.

_‘I always come when you call’_

His hand slips from the brass handle and he treads over to where Cas is standing. The angel’s head lifts up upon his approach.

“Dean?”

Dean stretches out both his hands and grasps Castiel’s shoulders tightly, a painful smile twisting on his lips. _Moral support. He needed to know..._

“You’re worth something, Cas. No matter how bad things get, or how useless you think you are, you are _always_ worth something,” Dean’s fingers tighten around the soft material of the trench coat, absorbing the warmth that’s seeping through it. “Look at Bobby. He couldn’t walk, but he saved our asses more times than I can count. We need you.”

Castiel’s eyes shoot open. Dean flinches slightly, alarmed by the precision of Castiel’s gaze. It’s slightly unfocused, but it’s almost there. That determined, unworldly gleam of blue he had gotten so used to seeing.

“I want to see you,” Castiel’s voice is so full of _feeling._ Dean’s stiff as Cas’s hand comes up. He slots Dean’s cheek into his palm like it belongs there, “I think I understand now.”

Dean swallows. “Understand what?”

“Sam said that you know when someone is pretty because you want to look them,” Cas’s hand slides away from Dean’s face to rest on his shoulder. He smiles faintly and squeezes it, “You’re pretty, Dean.”

There’s something so raw and innocent about Cas’s words - a tidal wave of emotion violently strikes Dean’s senses. _You’re pretty, Dean._

Time stretches without his notice. _Gotta say something._ Dean clears his throat and squints back the water in his eyes – _forgot to blink –_ before dropping his hands from Castiel’s shoulders.

“Thanks, Cas. You’re not so bad yourself,” Dean says with forced coolness, a tight smirk spreading across his face. Cas tilts his head and closes his eyes again.

“You enjoy looking at me?”

The smirk falls and Dean can’t stop his eyes as they roam around Cas’s face. Stubble, pale lips, ruffled hair, smooth brow, perfect nose, solid jawline – _he’s a dude, Dean._

“Yeah,” he croaks, “Yeah, I like looking at you—”

“Dean?”

Dean snaps his head around to Sam, who’s standing in the doorway. He looks confused, but his brow evens out in realisation without Dean having to say anything.

With a shake of his head, Dean’s emotions scatter themselves around the room and he’s back, calm and collected.

“Just making sure he doesn’t open the door to strangers and keeps his finger out of the plug sockets,” Dean jokes, grabbing the keys for the Impala off of a table as he passes it. Sam’s watching him, and Dean’s purposely ignoring him. _That look, like he knows something I don’t. Frickin’ annoying._

Dean’s out of the room and half way down the hall by the time Sam catches up with him, and the silence that stretches between them is filled with words neither of them says.

-

Cas manages to find the couch easily and presses multiple buttons on the remote until the box decides to turn on. He could never quite understand what the appeal of television was, but since Dean had suggested it, he figured it’d be worth trying.

There’s music, and Cas sits straight on the couch, hands clinched together in his lap. His fingers can’t stop pressing into each other, moving and twitching. The darkness is, as ever, solid.

A man is speaking. His voice is risen in what Cas thinks is anger and there’s wracking sobs being expelled in between. He’s sad, then. Why?

 _“Don’t go. You can’t. It’s dangerous,”_ he’s yelling, pleading, begging. Who is he talking to?

 _“I have to. If I don’t, they’ll find you. They’ll kill you. I wouldn’t be able to live with that.”_ Another man replies. His voice is uneven and wobbly – Dean’s voice had once sounded like that. ‘ <b> ** _I’d have died for you.’ </b>_**

_“Well, I won’t be able to live with myself if you died out there! You think I haven’t thought this through? We’ll run. Keep running with me, Arthur.”_

There’s silence for a moment. Cas actually finds himself a little breathless while he waits for this ‘Arthur’ to reply.

 _“Please,”_ the first man continues when Arthur doesn’t reply. Castiel feels his brow bend into a curve of worry. _Why isn’t Arthur replying?_

 _“I would die for you in a heartbeat. You know that, right?”_ Arthur’s voice is low and utterly broken. Cas leans forwards on the couch, as though getting closer would move the situation further along. There’s soft music playing and no words are exchanged for a few minutes.

 _“And I would, for you,”_ the other man whispers.

 _“I love—_ ” __

Cas flinches when the music abruptly changes, there’s smashing, yelling and angry snarls. Everything’s hectic and out of control and Cas is _infuriated. What was happening?_

It all stops.

“ _Arthur,”_ the man groans – that’s pain. Cas would know that crackly, hoarse tone anywhere.

 _“I’m here,”_ Arthur responds, voice equally laden with agony. They’re dying. Both of them. Cas wants to dive into the screen and heal them with the power he no longer has.

 _“We did it. They’re gone,”_ the man croaks. There’s coughing, deadly wheezing from both men.

 _“Yeah. Yeah, we did.”_ And then a final breath is released and the music creeps louder and louder, drowning out the sides of a crackling fire and collapsing buildings. It cuts to commercials.

Cas’s hand fumbles erratically for the remote and he points it quickly at the television. The channel changes with a click. A new voice echoes out of the speakers. Cas relaxes.

_“Sometimes affection is a shy flower that takes time to blossom…"_

-

Dean bursts through the door to the hotel room, his face a picture of pure delight. Sam tags along behind him, looking less happy and considerably less clean.

He’s coated in blood and ash, and Dean doesn’t even have a speck of dirt on him.

“I haven’t been this happy since Cas went all Oprah on that prostitute’s ass,” Dean laughs, throwing his keys into a nearby ashtray. Sam looks disgruntled.

“Nice to know that seeing your brother coated in crap is the only thing that’ll pull you out of a slump,” Sam retorts, flinging his hand in the direction of the floor. An unrecognisable liquid plasters itself to the gray, moth-eaten carpet.

Dean snickers and glances around the hotel room in search of Cas.

He’s perched on the edge of the couch and has apparently not noticed their return. That’s just weird. Cas’s hearing was impeccable and yet he was totally oblivious to Sam and Dean’s loud chattering.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean calls. Cas doesn’t respond.

Dean steps closer, eyeing up the television. It’s the ending, but Dean would notice the movie anywhere.

_Titanic?_

He looks at Cas. He’s absorbed and completely still, bar his foot, which is tapping repeatedly on the floor.

“Hey—” Cas snaps his head around to him.

“Be quiet, Dean!”

Dean clamps his mouth shut and his eyebrows contort into an expression of extreme disbelief. Sam’s laughing behind him, his rotten mood evidently gone.

Dean peers over his shoulder to Sam, whose smile is stretched wide over his face.

“You do realise this is your fault, right?” Sam says through his grin. Dean swallows and sends a cautious glance back over to Cas, who’s dangerously focused.

“Man, _no one_ could have seen this coming,” Dean mutters to himself, running a hand through his hair. _Cas attracted to chick flicks? No way._

“I’m gonna go wash up. If Cas starts crying, lend him a shoulder, okay?”

Sam escapes into their on-suite bathroom before Dean can punch him on the arm.

The credits are rolling now and Dean watches as Cas grows slightly panicked, scrabbling for the television remote. Dean snatches it out of his hand before he can change the channel.

“If you watch anymore, your junk is gonna drop off,” Dean scolds, throwing the remote onto one of the beds behind him. Cas doesn’t look happy with this information, but he knows it’s not true. Over the past two weeks, he’s gotten used to the obscure things Dean says and has long since stopped thinking everything he says is fact.

“How long have you been watching this crap?” Dean asks, slightly concerned. Cas leans backwards on the couch, thumbs twiddling.

“Since you left. I was unaware of how much time had passed.”

Dean shakes his head in incredulity.

“Human romance is a very beautiful thing—”

“Stop. I can almost smell the girl coming out of you.” Dean shudders and stretches over to turn off the television. The dog food commercial buzzes and zones out, leaving them in complete silence.

Dean ignores Castiel’s mildly irritated expression and strips off his shirt, throwing it onto the end of the bed carelessly. For once, he’s glad Cas can’t see him – the thought of Cas being able to see him half-naked stirs an uncomfortable feeling in the bottom of his stomach.

Dean freezes when there’s a click, and the television is back on. There’s a velvety voice talking about family and love.

“ _Love, actually, is all around...”_

Dean swirls round and Cas is leaning towards the screen again, listening intently.

“Hey!”

The angel had turned back on the television while he’d been occupied. _Sneaky son of a bitch._

Dean stalks over to where the television is spewing more romantic gunk and stretches out a hand to turn it off.

“There is no way I’m letting you watch this crap while I’m in the room—” A hand shoots out and grips like a vice onto Dean’s wrist, alarming him. Cas loosens his hold the moment Dean begins to move away.

“Leave me be,” he growls and Dean actually feels a little _frightened. But he’s not an angel, he can’t smite my ass anymore._

This doesn’t make him any less worried.

“Alright, fine. But if you get a stupid man crush on Hugh Grant, I’m never speaking to you again.”

Cas doesn’t seem to hear him. He’s gone back to listening to the television, an intensely determined expression on his face. Dean sighs and, with an air of defeat, slumps down onto the couch beside him.

Dean watches in silence.

-

It’s dark when Dean opens his eyes again. There’s a man with shiny teeth and slicked-back grey hair speaking on the television, pointing to a funny-looking contraption. An old woman in a bikini stands beside him, her smile wide and forced.

That’s normal. Dean has been at the hand of late-night television many times before, so he _knows_ how bad it can get. What’s not normal, however, is the presence at his side. Or the crick in his neck.

He’s still on the couch and the tattered digital radio says it’s just gone past three am. There’s an eerie fountain of heat warming his left side and he lifts his head from its comfortable place on _whatever it is, it’s soft._

Oh.

Cas’s head has slumped towards him – definitely asleep. Dean’s hair is sticking up and he blinks tiredly, looking around the hotel room in a weary stupor. Sam is in one of the beds, his silhouette moving up and down heavily in the darkness.

 _He’s never gonna let me forget this,_ Dean scrubs his hands over his face and looks around dazedly for a while, his eyes half-closed. He didn’t even remember falling asleep. They’d been halfway through the film when Cas’s stiff posture had begun to slouch and Dean had happily leant him his bare shoulder when his head dipped into his direction. They’d ended up with their heads pressed together. _Must have been a picture_.

Dean did _not_ want to remember this. He slaps Cas with the back of his hand.

“Cas,” his voice is rough with tiredness and he attempts to open his eyes further. They’re heavy, though, so he keeps them half-shut. Cas hums in his sleep and moves closer, finding Dean’s naked shoulder again.

Dean’s mildly surprised at first, then a sleepy smile twitches around his lips and he leans back, dipping his nose into Cas’s hair. It smells clean, warm and. It’s dizzyingly nice and he tells himself _just a few more minutes..._

He falls asleep.

-

The next morning, Dean’s neck aches and Cas also seems to be suffering from some kind of discomfort. But what stuns Dean is that Sam says nothing.

They pack up, and then they’re off.

-

Two weeks later, and Cas is starting to show signs of reserved anger.

He’s punched a hole in a hotel room wall, broken three chairs and now the only thing Sam and Dean can do to calm him down is turn on the television. But every inch of his body remains wound and he’s becoming more and more chronic. Fingers twitching, foot tapping, lip biting – it won’t _stop._  

Sam is sitting on the edge of his bed, unpacking some salt, shotgun rounds and holy water. Dean’s crouched forwards at the end of it, elbows pressed into his spread knees and hands clasped in front of his mouth.

“We need to talk to him,” Sam whispers warily.

“I don’t know, man, he’s pretty scary,” Comes his brother’s downcast, muffled reply.

“Dean, he’s not an angel anymore. He’s practically harmless,” Sam pushes away the bag, satisfied with the weapons he now has beside his bed. Dean’s still watching Cas, eyes frozen and worried. _Just talk to him, Dean,_ Sam wants to say. But he knows what’ll happen. Dean will stubbornly refuse, say it’s not his responsibility _(it is)_ and then Sam will have to do it.

Sam’s not going anywhere near Castiel.

So, instead of pressing the matter, Sam just stands up. Then he walks past Dean and leaves the room.

It’s not time for him to interfere.

-

Dean’s incredulous gaze is still pinned on the door which Sam has just walked out of.

It was becoming a frequent thing, this disappearing act of Sam’s. In the most difficult situations, when Dean required moral support, he just _left_ , leaving him alone with Cas.

Whose erratically jumping leg was beginning to irk on Dean’s nerves.

“Dude, will you just _stop?”_ Dean snaps, standing up stiffly. Cas’s leg freezes and his head tilts down towards it, almost like he’s surprised that it was moving in the first place. Perhaps it was a subconscious movement.

The movie on the television is rolling, unnoticed. Two actors are chasing a baby around a living room.

“Apologies,” Cas says quietly. Then his fingers begin to move, twining themselves in a loose fray on the couch. Dean watches the fingers gently wind themselves around the thin string, strong and solid.

“You okay?” Dean manages to squeeze out of his throat. The last thing he wanted was a chick flick moment – all the more likely since Cas seemed to like them so much – but he needed to know.

Cas doesn’t say anything. It seems like he’s listening to the movie again, but Dean knows he’s not. Dean shuffles forwards, approaching the edge of the couch.

“Come on, Cas. If you don’t talk about it, it’s just gonna get worse—”

“There is nothing you can do to help, since it’s your fault that I am like this!”

Dean flinches backwards, a lethal jab of shock shooting up his spine. Cas’s eyes are open, unfocused but glaring into his general direction. Dean’s silent for a moment, attempting to decipher the emotions that are battling in his stomach. What was Cas blaming him for? Everything? His blindness? His constant fidgeting? His short-temper?

Anger clashes with calm, swiftly blasting it into molecules. Confusion and guilt face off, until anger intervenes and destroys confusion. Then it greedily absorbs the guilt.

In a flash of hot rage, Dean’s in front of Cas and pulling him up from the couch by his collar, faces almost pressed together.

“What, exactly, is my fault? Huh?”

Castiel’s mild surprise at being manhandled passes and he grasps Dean’s upper arms. He pushes with a frightening force, making Dean stumble backwards. He releases his grip on Cas’s coat to stretch out his hands, looking for purchase, but all he ends up doing is knocking a bowl of plastic fruit to the floor, along with some of Sam’s books.

Then he hits the wall with a thud, Cas’s toes pressed to his. Now Cas has _his_ shirt bunched up in those strong, solid fingers.

“I was bought into existence as a warrior. It is against my nature to sit here and do nothing,” Cas whispers, agitation and strain in his hoarse voice. Dean’s eyes squeeze shut in an attempt to get past the feeling of hot breath on his face. “But you have told me to stay out of the fight and I shall obey. So, it is _your fault._ ”

Cas’s hands press harder into his chest, knuckles digging into the skin. Dean is breathless, mouth open and hot and _he’s panting._

“We’re not your God. You can do whatever the Hell you like,” Dean’s impressed with his sturdy response, considering he feels everything but steady. His words make Cas loosen his hold slightly. “We’re looking out for you, Cas. We don’t want you dying on us.” Dean uses Castiel’s moment of weakness to flip them around. A plastic vase jitters off of the table when Cas’s hip bumps into it.

Now Cas is pressed against the vile wallpaper, hands gripping Dean’s forearms. Dean’s got his shirt bunched up in his own hands again, backs of his fingers brushing against the stubble underneath Cas’s chin.

“We almost lost you once,” Dean’s anger still shines through, but it’s laden with pain, “We don’t want to lose you for good.”

Castiel is quiet, eyes closed, breathing mildly elevated. Dean drops his arms back to his side once he’s sure Cas isn’t going to push him around again. They stand there, a breaths distance away from each other, in a silence that’s thick. Dean’s fingers itch with the memory of warm, solid chest beneath them and he clenches them, his jaw jutting shut. His eyes run themselves along Cas’s deeply dishevelled state and he must be going _crazy._

_Women, Dean. You like..._

“Dean?”

Dean’s closer, much closer than he should be. His fingertips are brushing against the wall by Cas’s hip and every time he sucks in a breath, his chest brushes against Cas’s. The rush of adrenaline still thrums through his veins and well, he isn’t even going to start on his emotional state. Buzzing with fury one minute, hot the next…

_Women. Breasts. You’re as straight as a plank of wood._

His lips are parted, slanted over Cas’s but not quite touching. They’re just breathing into each other, Cas rigid and Dean fighting against _everything_ his body is telling him.

_It’s hot. There’s sweat prickling at the base of his neck and he’s dizzy._

“I can feel you,” Cas breathes out against his lips and Dean shivers hard. They’re not touching, anywhere, but Cas knows he’s there. “You’re very close. What’s the matter?”

Dean could have laughed. Cas didn’t even know how much of an effect he was having on him. _Dean didn’t even know how much of an effect Cas was having on him._

“You’re not a chick,” Dean replies breathlessly, squeezing his eyes shut as tight as he can when his upper lip brushes _just so_ against Cas’s.

“I’m aware,” Cas responds lightly and _is that amusement?_

Dean pulls back and runs his eyes over Cas’s face. Yes, it is. There’s a small quirk to his lips and his eyebrows are curved in _just_ the right way.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean’s inner turmoil seems to slot itself into the right place and he smirks at the angel in front of him. He wants to kiss him. _Curiosity. I’m just curious._

“Cas,” his voice catches in his throat and he pushes forwards, until their bodies are completely pressed together. “Cas, can I… Can I kiss you?”

Cas tilts his head to the side, confusion evident on his pretty, _pretty_ face.

“Why?”

Dean holds back his snort. Of course he’d ask why.

“Just… I want to try it, okay? I’m going crazy here.”

Castiel seems to ponder it for a moment – _most women would jump at the chance and this S.O.B actually hesitates? –_ but then his face straightens out and he’s as passive as ever.

“I don’t see why not.”

Dean’s heart constricts, like it’s fighting to get out of his chest, and then he’s moving forwards, hands pressed flat to the wall. _Let’s get this out of your system, Winchester. Then stop with this bi-curious crap and get back to banging a ton of women._

But the moment Dean’s lips catch on Cas’s dry ones, he knows it’ll be hard to forget this.

He can forget everything else, though, just this once. He can forget that he hasn’t forgiven Cas yet; he can forget that he’s a dude; he can forget that Dean Winchester, the righteous man, is about kiss a shattered angel.

He pushes his lips harder against Cas’s – they taste sweet and warm – but Cas is unresponsive. Dean can almost hear the thoughts buzzing around in his busy little head. Of course, it’s his first kiss he’s experiencing. He clearly had no idea what to do.

Dean moves his hand to Cas’s hip and slips two of his fingers through a gap in his tucked shirt. They come into contact with hot skin and then Cas jerks, mouth parting in surprise.

Dean’s in, pressing rougher, open-mouthed kisses against Cas’s lips. Responsive or not, he _needed_ this. He needed to know.

Oh, but then Cas moves. It’s just a little bit of pressure, but he’s— _God, he’s kissing back._ The movements are confused, but it’s sending Dean mad. Cas takes Dean’s bottom lip into his mouth and sucks gently, curious hands coming up to tug lightly on Dean’s shirt.

But Dean pulls back.

They’re both breathless and their lips are flushed and red. Dean has to swallow down the urge to dive back in when he sees Cas, mouth still parted open, eyes half-lidded, dazed and _not quite there yet._

It doesn’t take Cas long to redeem himself and he straightens, brow furrowed.

“That was strange,” he says simply. Dean swallows the lump in his throat.

“Yeah,” he croaks in return. It had been a tender kiss – tenderer than Dean usually allowed – and now he seemed to be having vivid imagery of a more firmer, hot kiss. _With tongues and fumbling hands and maybe a bit of grinding—_

Dean shakes himself and blinks himself back into the present. Cas’s hand is hovering in the air, as though confused. Was it going to stretch out and pull Dean closer?

There’s a click and then the door to the hotel room sweeps open. Sam comes in, too occupied with placing the keys to the Impala in a dish to realise that Dean leaps half way across the room. He’s busying himself with pulling out fresh clothes when Sam finally looks up.

Castiel is still leaning against the wall, eyes firmly closed and hand partially outstretched. There’s plastic fruit and books scattered across the floor.

Sam throws the magazine and apple juice he has onto a nearby table, eyes switching accusingly between him and Cas.

“You okay?” Sam asks Cas and Dean hopes to _God_ Castiel doesn’t mention what they’d just done.

“Fine,” Dean turns around in time to see Cas’s hand drop. His head is turned into his direction and Dean is sure, had he been able to see, his eyes would be searing through him. Sam’s frowning at Dean now, like it’s his fault that Cas is acting strange.

Well, it was.

“Gonna go,” Dean clears his throat when his voice comes out gravelly, “… wash up.”

And then he flees to the bathroom, past Cas, trying very hard not to think about how far things could have gotten had Sam not butted in.

-

It’s a few days before Cas brings it up again. Sam is asleep on the single bed and Castiel is lying next to Dean. It’s not weird – they’d shared before. They all traded; sometimes Dean would share with Sam, others he’d end up alone. Or next to Cas.

He’d never admit to himself that sleeping with Cas was a hell of a lot easier. When Cas slept, he slept _hard._ He didn’t fling long, gangly limbs out every time he turned over.

“You kissed me,” Cas says into the dark silence of the room, pulling Dean out of his stupor. He hadn’t realised he’d been staring the side of Cas’s face.

“Yeah. I wanted to see something,” Dean reasons, not surprised by the bluntness of Castiel’s statement. It wasn’t the first time Cas had spewed something random and off-topic during inopportune moments.

“Kissing seems to be a form of expressing emotion. So what did you need to see?”

Cas sounds genuinely curious, but Dean can’t get past the lump in his throat. What had he needed to see? What it was like, of course. Did he want to do it again?

He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath through his nose. _Hell yeah. But he couldn’t._

“Sometimes when humans spend a lot of time together, you start thinking about crazy things. I was a little nuts, you know? All this running and not being with a woman – a guy’s got needs,” Dean mutters into his pillow, though he knows Cas can hear him clearly.

He pushes his head back when Cas turns over, his face now precariously close to his own. Cas had misjudged the distance, though Dean was sure that his surprised breath must be dancing all over Cas’s lips now.

“Needs?” Cas whispers. Dean allows his eyes to drop to the soft lips a few inches from his own and heat prickles up the back of his neck. He’s thinking about leaning forwards and taking them again, pushing Cas down into the bed with his hands and—

“We humans get a little cranky when we don’t have contact with each other,” Dean manages to say, pushing his thoughts hard to the back of his head.

“I’m here for you, Dean. If you ever need contact,” Cas whispers, laying a hot palm on Dean’s forearm. Dean takes in a sharp intake of breath when a spike of heat shoots up his arm. Then it’s gone, and Cas has turned over.

Dean stares at the back of his head for a while, before kicking off the blankets.

_Fucking hot…_

_-_

Dean wakes up to voices in the motel room. Sam’s sitting straight on his bed, expression blank and staring at something Dean can’t see. Dean emerges from underneath the quilt to see what has made Sam so… uncomfortable.

Balthazar is standing at the end of the bed that Dean and Cas are sleeping in. He looks slightly bewildered, but his eyes are twinkling in amusement.

“Wow, Deano, didn’t take you long to forgive him. Though, I never thought you’d go this far—”

“Can it, asshole.” Dean growls, sitting up slowly. He presses a hand to his right eye, which is throbbing from tiredness. Cas is sitting upright next to him, expression blank. He would seem a lot more threatening if his hair wasn’t so mussed and if he had held back the yawn that suddenly stretched over his face.

Balthazar shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers and tilts his head to the side mockingly.

“Aww, Cassie, feeling sleepy?”

Instead of rising to it, Cas smiles faintly _._ Dean stares at him disbelievingly.

“A little. What do you need?”

“We need to have a little chat.” Balthazar doesn’t need to add _‘alone’_ onto the end of the sentence, as he blatantly stares at the Winchesters like they’re a major inconvenience. Castiel pulls back the covers and pats along the table beside the bed, rising to his feet. Balthazar watches him patiently, not batting an eyelash at the complete set of pajamas Cas slept in.

Balthazar walks swiftly up to Cas and plonks a hand down onto his shoulder.

“See you later, boys,” Balthazar does a two-fingered salute and then he and Cas are gone in a rustle.

Dean stares at the space they had been seconds before, an amused twitch to his lips.

“Now Cas will know what it feels like to have a plugged up asshole.”

-

It’s dark when Cas returns to them. Balthazar doesn’t spare them a glance and is gone as quick as he’d come. Dean and Sam scramble to their feet and both brothers grasp a shoulder each, stopping Cas from tumbling over.

“That was disorientating,” he grumbles, pressing a hand to his forehead. Dean pats him once.

“Not so fun when you’re the one taking the ride.”

Sam moves away after helping Dean to settle Cas into a nearby chair.

“So, what’d you guys talk about?”

Cas takes his hand away from his forehead and his pale lips tighten. Dean watches his hands automatically fold themselves into his lap, fingers drawing and clenching together.

“Cas?” Dean prompts warily. Cas seems reluctant to tell them and Dean knows that secrets can only lead to bad things – like running off the King of Hell.

“He was simply updating me with Heaven’s progress. I may not be an angel anymore, but he is still my brother.”

It seems like a reasonable answer, but there’s something scratching at Dean’s mind that just makes him not want to believe it.

“How’s it going?” Sam asks without a hint of suspicion. Dean snorts. _Naïve little brother._

“Those who turned against Raphael are being rewarded. Those who were with him are being… recreated.” The look of mild sympathy on Cas’s face makes Dean wince.

“Sounds painful,” he comments, moving towards the television. He wistfully watches Dr Sexy for a few more seconds before flicking it off.

“We got work to do tomorrow. There’s a few werewolves in town. Been hiding away in some warehouse, but not eating anybody,” Dean seats himself on a hard dining chair, longingly wishing that they had a couch. “Guess they’re only hunting angel meat.”

Castiel slumps in his chair – just slightly, but Dean notices.

“Hey man, you’re coming with us.”

Sam turns to stare in surprise at his brother.

“What? Dean, he can’t come—”

“I think he’s more than capable of dealing with a couple of freaky wolves. Come on.”

Sam shakes his head exaggeratedly at Dean, obviously not wanting to voice more of his displeasure out loud. Dean rolls his eyes and reaches out for the remote that’s on the table beside him. Then he throws it across the room, hard, into Cas’s direction.

Sam’s wild, worried eyes just widen when Castiel’s hand shoots up and grabs it with perfect coordination.

“Wow,” Sam whispers, probably voicing his thoughts. Dean hides his proud smile behind a hand, though strangely, Cas has a smile twitching about his lips too, like he _knows_ what Dean’s thinking about him.

Before Dean can consider this further, there’s a sharp bang on the hotel door. Sam and him share cautious glances and they’re on their feet in seconds.

They never get to their weapons in time. The door flies off its hinges and standing there, drooling and panting, is a werewolf. It steps forwards and growls;

“ _Castiel…”_

  


  


  



	3. Forgiveness

Dean’s diving for the knife under his pillow the moment the wolf moves forwards. Sam stands boldly in front of the animal, creating a barrier between it and Cas.

“Sam!” Dean shouts, throwing the knife across the room. It’s silver – should be enough to slow it down, maybe even kill it. Sam catches it easily and thrusts forwards, catching the arm of the wolf. A tuft of fur wilts to the floor and the wolf lets out a howl of pain, swiping forwards with a big claw. It wallops against Sam’s side, but doesn’t slice the skin. Sam flies through the air and collides with the wall, the force of the impact sending a picture hanging from the dank wallpaper to the floor.

It shatters noisily and then it’s Dean’s turn. He leaps in front of the monster, eyes scouring the floor quickly for the knife that Sam had dropped. It’s there, next to the furry paw on the floor.

 _Shit,_ Dean curses to himself, eyes darting up to the animal looming over him. Its saliva is dribbling out onto the floor of the motel, dampening the stained carpet.

“Cool it, beasty,” Dean holds up both of his hands in a sign of surrender. It actually seems to perplex the wolf for a moment and Dean takes the opportunity to lunge forward and grab the hilt of the knife.

A bristly paw comes out and pushes him in the chest, sending him backwards. The room flies around him and comes to an abrupt halt when he hits the wall. A flash of pain sparks up his spine and he grunts, collapsing to the floor in a heap. But he can’t afford to be disorientated – Sam’s still recovering.

He pushes himself to his feet slowly, but freezes when Cas steps in front of him.

“Cas, get out of the way!” Dean exclaims hoarsely, his voice tinged with pain. Castiel remains in front of him and Dean _knows_ he can hear the wolf stepping closer.

He’s on his feet in a flash, ignoring the rush of giddiness that renders him immobile for a second. Then he’s next to Cas, gripping hold of the sleeve of his coat and keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the wolf.

They’re blocked in – a wall to their far left, a table to their far right.

“ _Castiel,”_ the growl of the wolf is almost unintelligible, but the name is so familiar, Dean can hear it. _You’re not getting to Cas, you son of a bitch._

And then he’s steaming forwards, knife clutched tightly in his hand, head filled with a surge of overwhelming protectiveness.

The wolf is quicker. There’s a brief brush of coarse fur against his face, then a searing pain down his cheek. The room is soaring past him again and then he lands on the top of the table in a crumpled heap. It collapses under his weight with a hefty crunch and then a smooth, watery warmth spreads down his brow. He’s blinking blood out of his eye when he sees Cas facing off to the wolf again, sturdy and strong.

“Cas,” he croaks, but his voice is a whisper – he’s still winded. He’s helpless, scrambling atop the splinters of wood painfully, blood seeping down his face and dripping off of his jawline onto the smooth, crushed planks beneath him.

The wolf is prowling forwards and Dean freezes when a paw rises. But Cas blocks it from coming into contact with his head, faster than Sam or Dean could have ever managed. Dean can’t help the wave of pride that makes his mouth fall open.

_He’s blind and he still kicks more ass than me and Sam put together._

Sam’s still trying to come round on the other side of the room, but Dean can’t spare him more than a worried glance. Cas is still fighting against the wolf – and winning – and Dean just can’t tear his eyes away.

It’s when the wolf manages to cut in a sideswipe and Cas lets out a grunt of pain, Dean decides to get his act together. He clambers to his feet, swiping his sleeve across the gash on his forehead to stop the flow of blood. Then, he draws his arm back and tightens his grip on the knife.

“Move, Cas!” He shouts and Castiel is out of the way before the words have even left his mouth. Dean throws the knife and it twirls, over and over through the air, until it buries itself into the werewolf’s chest, past the fur and straight into the heart.

The wolf lets out a groan, a howl, a guttural snarl and then falls forwards. The fur begins to travel inside the body and then they’re left with an ugly looking man who has a gaping hole in his chest. The room smells of blood, wet dog, and fear.

“You okay, Sammy?” Dean calls over his shoulder as he approaches Cas. There’s a little blood seeping through the space in between Cas’s hand, which is placed lightly over his lip.

“Yeah,” his brother groans in reply. Dean doesn’t look back to see if he’s telling the truth. He places both hands on Cas’s shoulders and when it’s clear he’s not going to do it himself, Dean grasps hold of Castiel’s wrist and forcefully pulls his hand away from his mouth.

His lip has welled up a little, split, but it’s nothing major.

Dean smacks him on the arm.

“The hell, dude? You could have been killed!”

“But I wasn’t,” Cas says bluntly, “and I am more than capable of looking after myself.”

Dean looks at both of Cas’s closed eyelids in turn and holds back a sigh, letting his hand drop from his shoulder. He notices he’s still holding Cas’s wrist and quickly releases it. He’s frighteningly disturbed over the spike of _whatever that was_ that had coursed through his body at the sight of Cas’s blood and Cas’s pale skin.

Dean sweeps his gaze over the room, blanching at the sight of it. He doesn’t want to see what the motel manager thinks of the mess – if they’re still alive. Quite frankly, he’s surprised a wolf managed to walk through the front door without causing more of a commotion.

“We better go,” Sam voices Dean’s thoughts and Dean nods in agreement. “You wanna clear up a bit before we leave?”

Dean’s about to say that tidying it up before running was kind of counterproductive, when he realises that Sam is talking about him. His cheek is still stinging and he turns to look at himself in a small mirror on the wall. He’s got a shallow gash travelling from the edge of his brow to the tip of his left cheekbone.

Great.

“How am I gonna get chicks with a frickin’ slice through my beautiful face?” Dean jokes, touching a hand delicately to the cut. Sam snorts and looks over to Cas.

“Cas looks like a kicked puppy. Women are gonna be buzzing around him like flies.”

Dean’s gaze moves to Cas in the mirror and he finds himself silently agreeing. His chin has a little blood on it, but once he’s all cleaned up, Cas will probably just have a little bruise near his lip and on his cheekbone.

“Lucky asshole,” Dean mutters to himself, reaching forwards to grasp a handful of tissues from a nearby box. He wipes off the blood as best as he can and shoves it into his pocket.

“Better leave before the rest of the rabid dogs get here,” Dean says, stepping over a table leg towards the bed and his bags. They gather up their stuff, and then they’re on the road again.

-

It’s a day later when Dean loses it again.

It’s just him and Cas. Cas is listening to the television – some animated girl with ridiculously long blonde hair is singing with a douche-y looking dude. Dean’s just lying on his bed, pretending not to be interested, though he finds himself swaying slowly to the tune.

Sam’s out, probably talking a little more than necessary to a woman who was ‘happy to tell the FBI about any strange occurrences’ that were going on in the area. They’d asked a few other people, but when a hairy biker had _hilariously_ quipped that Dean and Cas must be into some kinky shit – clearly their wounds were misinterpreted - Sam had sent Dean back to the motel.

And they were alone.

Cas is shifting uncomfortably – it would have been unusual, but since his battle with the wolf, his fidgeting had stopped. Now, just a day later and he’s back at it again. It’s bugging the hell out of Dean, who’s trying to ignore the fact he’s enjoying the prissy Disney song playing out of the television.

He hauls himself off of the bed and heads over to the couch – _fuck yes, their new motel room actually had one_ – and that’s when Cas freezes. Just stops moving entirely, index finger twitching once before falling still.

The characters have stopped singing now. Dean clears his throat, just making his presence obvious in case Cas hadn’t noticed him sitting next to him.

“You doing okay?” Dean asks him warily, eyes fastened on the red blip on Cas’s pale lips. _What would it taste like…_

“Fine,” Cas replies, his knee beginning to jitter up and down. It thumps on the hollow floor and Dean bristles. He’s clearly _not_ fine and he’s just keeping it in and _for God sake._

Dean clamps a hand down onto Cas’s thigh and all air is sucked out of the room. His leg has stopped moving, but Dean doesn’t notice. There’s firm muscle and a torturous heat warming his palm. His fingers twitch and Castiel sucks in a breath.

He turns his head towards him and Dean lifts his up simultaneously.

“Dean, I—” Cas stops, like he can’t quite think about how to word the next sentence. Instead of continuing, the angel leans forwards, swooping dangerously close. “I would like to try the… kissing. Again.”

There’s no embarrassment behind his words. Just curiosity. Dean’s hand slides down the warm thigh towards Castiel’s knee and he squeezes it gently.

“So would I,” And then Dean’s hands are cupping Cas’s face, lips crushed against a surprised, open mouth. It’s messy and inexperienced and Dean is once again the only one contributing. But after he nibbles on Cas’s bottom lip, over the welt, Cas is there again, lips moving just as fervently as Dean’s.

Hands are pressing into Dean’s back and fingers are woven in Cas’s soft hair as they tug and meld their mouths together in every possible way, heavy exhalation coming from their noses and wet sounds filling the silence. There’s no tongues, just a furious, unrelenting press of the lips and Dean’s pretty damn sure that _Cas had to have learnt that from somewhere._

Dean pulls back, chest heaving and cheeks burning. Cas seems equally flushed, his lips swollen and parted.

“I think I like… this,” Cas whispers, a little lost. Dean mentally pats himself on the back for managing to render an angel almost incoherent, then realises he’s having trouble forming a reasonable response.

“Well, I am pretty experienced,” Dean says, chest filled with pride. But he’s jerked out of his arrogant show when hands bunch themselves up in the front of his jacket. After a blur of movement, he finds himself on his feet and against the wall, Cas’s lips on his again.

They’re smooth and wild and if this carries on, Dean won’t be able to stop. He tries to push Cas away, but then there’s a swift lick along his bottom lip and _that’s Cas’s tongue_. Fuck.

Cas hooks Dean’s tongue with his own and sucks it into his mouth, his hands rubbing up and down along Dean’s chest, rough and demanding.  Cas is out of control – total sensory overload. Dean can’t break off to tell him he needs to slow the fuck down, because Dean’s getting hard and there _is no way in hell_ he is going to admit to himself that a guy is turning him on.

He’s still having his sexual identity crisis, for God’s sake.

The door opens and neither of them realise – Dean hand has wound itself under Cas’s shirt and he’s too intrigued by the smooth skin on Cas’s back to give a shit about doors opening.

It’s the choked, disgusted sound that makes them pull apart. Or rather, make Dean release Cas’s lips with a frightened gasp, leaving Cas perplexed. Sam’s standing in the doorway, dressed in his suit, with an utterly dumbfounded expression on his face.

“Dude, were you and Cas _getting off_ to a Disney movie?”

Of all the things for Sam to say, he goes for a frickin’ _joke?_

Dean’s too busy opening and closing his mouth, so any responses that come to mind blow away in wispy defeat.

“Me and Dean were trying out kissing. It’s… interesting.”

Dean closes his eyes and decides to just ride through the immense surge of humiliation that smacks him upside the head. _God, Cas, you could have told him I was giving you CPR or something…_

“Really?” There’s a smile in Sam’s voice, “Looked more than interesting—”

“Sammy, really, just clam it.”

There’s something in Dean’s voice that actually makes Sam fall silent. Dean’s eyes are still closed – he doesn’t think he can deal with Sam’s over-expressive face right now.

“Cas, can you give us a minute?” Sam actually sounds kind of sincere and serious, so Dean opens his eyes. His brother is looking at Cas fondly, no sign of teasing on his face whatsoever.

“Of course,” And then Cas fumbles towards the door, exiting it smoothly. Dean and Sam stand in silence. Dean’s hoping it won’t turn into a chick flick moment – the last thing he wanted was the ‘The Talk’ from his own younger brother.

“I already knew,” Sam’s seated himself on a shabby chair, his head ducked and fingers fiddling with each other. Dean stares at him, confusion twisting his brow.

“What?”

“I already knew. About you and Cas. A couple of weeks back.”

“There is no me and Cas. I’m just… sexually frustrated. Having a bit of a crisis. No biggie – not the first time I’ve thought about it,” Dean shrugs off casually, heading towards his bag that’s beside his bed. He’s sure there’s a warm beer tucked away in it somewhere. Hopefully it’d quench back the dangerous urges he’s still got to kiss Cas senseless.

“But this is Cas, Dean. Not some random biker in a bar that looks like Doctor Sexy. And that didn’t look like _thinking_ to me.” Sam’s looking up now and he’s serious, his eyes aflame with that protectiveness from all those weeks back. Dean looks away from his brother when he finds the beer in his bag, smirking in victory.

“Hey, the same thing would happen if some other pretty guy was travelling with us. Like I said, not the first time.” Dean’s still treating the conversation as if it’s a nuisance and Sam doesn’t seem to like it. He’s on his feet now.

“Cas is an ex-angel. He’s almost as old as the Earth itself and is probably one of the most naïve men on the planet. _It’s the first time.”_

Dean’s smirk falls and he meets Sam’s eyes. He looks pissed.

“Who’s stolen your cupcakes?”

“Dean, he’s not someone you can just mess with. If you’re gonna have a sexual identity crisis, have it with some guy we meet at a roadhouse. Not a blind ex-angel who’s still learning how to dress properly,” Sam’s voice is steel and the words actually get to Dean.

He tries, just briefly, imaging himself with a faceless guy. He jolts out of the daydream, mild repulsion spreading over his face. Sam sees it.

“There is no way I’m gonna get into bed with some airy fairy,” Dean states, making his way across the hotel room and attempting to hold back another appalled shudder. He picks up a bottle opener and plucks the top off of the beer bottle, taking a large glug from it.

He can still taste Cas in his mouth.

It’s when he sees Sam smiling at him – a complete one-eighty from his previous expression – that he realises he must have said something. He thinks back on his words, but can’t see what he could have said to make his brother grin like an idiot.

 “So, you’re saying you’re not into guys?” Sam prods. Dean can hear his calculating mind whirring, but doesn’t know _why_ he’s overthinking everything. His brother was an enigma.

“Dude, no, gross. Just thinking about it makes me want to gag.”

“…But you didn’t mind doing it with Cas?”

The vivid imagery of their previous make-out session hammers into Dean’s mind and he flushes. _No, he certainly hadn’t minded that._ But he’d be damned if he’d admit that to Sam.

“You know what? I think you just cleared up my little bi-curious problem. There’s nothing. Nada. Zilch. Guess it was a fluke,” Dean actually smirks at the crestfallen expression that befalls on his brothers face. It doesn’t last long – his eyes are twinkling again.

“You’re a terrible liar. You know, denial makes the feelings grow stronger—”

“We’re done talking.” Dean storms towards the door of the motel and hauls it open. Cas is standing outside, patient, and lifts his head up the moment Dean opens the door.

Dean actually feels his cheeks grow hot at the sight of him – _he’s just_ standing _there and it’s enough to make his head spin._

“Sam’s finished with his pep talk. Get your ass back inside, hot stuff.”

He says it jokingly, to press Sam’s buttons, but he finds himself blushing embarrassingly at his own corniness. After Cas enters, Dean closes the door behind him and stares at the back of Cas’s head, wondering whether or not he had imagined the small, gentle smile on the ex-angels face.

-

Every two days, Balthazar appears and takes Castiel away.

Sam’s not suspicious at all and Dean tries not to be, but that trust which he had in Castiel has evaporated. He doesn’t trust angels, with their disappearing and sly, knowing smiles.

He blinks down at the ketchup he’s holding when it shifts in his hand. Then he lets out a yelp of alarm and drops what is now _a frickin’ turtle._

Dean’s eyes immediately snap up to meet Gabriel’s gaze and _he does not like his smile_. Sam hasn’t realised yet, so Dean kicks him under the table. Sam lifts his head to glare at him in confusion, before noticing his distant gaze. Soon, he’s staring down Gabriel too.

“Hello boys,” he sweeps his gaze around the hotel room with searching eyes and Dean unclenches his teeth.

“He’s showering.”

Gabriel’s eyes snap back to Dean, head still turned. Then his lip quirks up at one edge.

“Oh, I know. I thought we could have some precious bonding time before he comes out.”

The water stops in the other room. Dean hides his sag of relief – the last thing he wanted was ‘bonding’ time with Gabriel. He smirks at the angel until Cas opens the bathroom door and emerges, puffs of steam curling around his form. Instinctively, his eyes snap over to him, but they don’t flicker back to Gabriel. No, _they stay there._

Cas is clenching the edge of a small towel around his waist, muscles tensed in his arm and his _skin, fuck,_ it’s damp and there are droplets of hot water trickling down his chest. Then there’s his hair, ruffled and slick, sticking to the edges of _that face._

Dean closes his mouth when he realises its jerked open and then shifts in his seat, trying hard not to clear his throat though he _really_ needs to. His eyes dart around the room, looking at everything in the room that’s _not_ Cas; unfortunately, that includes Gabriel. His gaze freezes on him and Dean stiffens.

Gabriel is smirking. It’s that _you-may-know-I’m-an-angel-now-but-I’m-still-as-tricky-as-the-fucking-trickster_ kind of smirk. He’s seen something and Dean’s damn sure it’s something he didn’t want him to see.

“Castiel,” Gabriel calls, never taking his eyes off of Dean’s, “I’d put some clothes on if I were you.”

Dean’s jaw is clenched again, firm and tight. _Shit…_

Sam looks confused at the warning tone in Gabriel’s voice, until he sees Dean staring down the angel with a furious vehemence. Sam’s invisible to them in that moment. It’s just them.

“Good to see you’re warming back up to him, _Dean,”_ Gabriel’s voice sounds slightly mocking, “Though it looks like you’ve taken a bigger leap than I thought you would.”

“Shut up, asshole,” Dean manages to grind out, casting Castiel a wary glance. His furtive glimpse sticks and he finds himself following a trail of hair at the base of Cas’s chest, licking his lips as it reaches the edge of the towel—

“Someone get this kid a bucket,” Gabriel’s voice is mocking, but he sounds _pissed._ He kicks Dean in the shin. “Eyes up front, soldier.”

Dean tears his gaze away, guilt flashing in his eyes before being rapidly replaced with annoyance. Gabriel glares back, though his teasing smile remains tightly on his face. He lifts his hand and clicks and for a moment, Dean thinks he’s going to do something crazy, like stick him back in TV land.

But no, instead there’s a rustle and then Castiel is dressed.

“Time to go, bro,” There’s another click and then Cas and Gabriel are gone. Dean slumps backwards in his seat and runs his hands over his face, letting out a slow breath. Sam sniffs behind him.

“I think you got slobber on your jeans.”

 _Great._ Now Sam was at it. Dean casts him a blank glance with a tilt of his head. Sam’s fighting back a smile and throws up his hands.

“Alright, sorry. Whatever.”

Then Dean turns back and rests his hands in his lap, wincing when they brush against his too-tight jeans. He grits his teeth and turns back to his meal on the table, refusing to acknowledge the obvious arousal between his legs.

He can’t find it in himself to feel happy that the ketchup is back. He squirts it over his meal and begins to stuff his face, willing away the heat on his cheeks and repeating – for what could have been the thousandth time – that _he did not want Cas._

-

Two months since Cas lost his Grace and fell from Heaven, he makes his first mistake.

They’re at a rather luscious hotel and Cas is tired – grumpy, secluded, quiet. So he tells Gabriel to speak to him outside the room, instead of flying them someplace remote and Dean, well, his suspicions have only been rising throughout the weeks of jumping to and fro, so he waits.

They leave the room, Gabriel pinning him with a hard glare as they do so. Dean ignores the warm smile that the prick gives Sam – Dean had no idea when they’d become close enough for _smiles,_ but he doesn’t care at the moment. He innocently wipes the handle of his gun, gives it a few minutes and then jumps to his feet.

“Dean.” Sam knows, of course. He could probably see it in the way his eyes had kept flickering to the door and back. Dean holds up a hand.

“Nothing you say is gonna stop me.” Dean’s across the room and through the door before Sam can get out another word. He instinctively hunches his back and makes his way along the wall until he reaches the corner. He can hear jumbled words coming from just beyond it and then listens.

“… dangerous, but hey, what are brothers for, right?”

“How many days?”

“About three. Maybe less. Balthazar’s pretty feisty, I’m sure he’s looking forward to tearing into a couple o’ souls.”

Dean frowns and his stomach drops, just slightly. It doesn’t sound like they’re gabbling on about Heaven, but it doesn’t sound like they’re _not_ either.

“Thank you, Gabriel.”

“No problem, bro,” and then Gabriel’s voice raises a little, “Think of this little expedition into Purgatory for your Grace as a… thank you, of sorts. You did save the entire _world_ and _Heaven.”_

His breath sticks, his head swims and his legs weaken. He slams a hand _hard_ against the wall and then it’s the only thing keeping him upright. He’s seeing red, then white, then black, then red again.

_Purgatory. Grace._

_They were going to get Cas’s Grace back._

“No.” He speaks to himself, voice low and hoarse and full of betrayal. _Cas had lied to him. Again._

He vaguely acknowledges a rustle of feathers and approaching footsteps. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s swinging around the corner and grasping Cas by the lapels of his coat.

“Dean,” Cas’s voice is surprised and concerned, but Dean _doesn’t fucking care._ He drags Cas behind him, ignoring his fumbling footsteps and the pair of hands that grasp his forearm, attempting to tear away the grip.

Dean kicks the hotel room door open and Sam jolts to his feet, looking _really_ scared.

“Get out,” he growls to his brother. Sam just stands there, blankly staring between his brother and the tight clasp he has on Castiel’s coat. Dean’s breathing erratically, tick in his jaw, eyes cold as steel and loose hand trembling with anger. Cas actually looks a little frightened, hunched over and hands only gently clawing at Dean’s sleeve.

“Dean—”

“I said _get out_ , Sammy!” Dean yells and Sam jerks into movement, fleeing from the room, sparing them one last glance before shutting the door. Dean doesn’t waste time – he shoves Cas against a beam, _hard,_ and smashes his fist across his face, sending him to the floor.

“You son of a bitch, you _lied_ to us!”

Cas has a hand pressed to his cheekbone, but looks stoically calm. Deadly calm. Dean lurches forwards and catches his fingers in the collar of his coat again, hauling him back to his feet and pressing him into the beam.

“Me and Sam, we’re doing everything we can for you. And this is what you give to us?” Dean’s face is dangerously close to Castiel’s, breathing hot, angry air over his face. “You’ve been lying through your teeth this whole time, you bastard. Were you going to disappear on us once you had your mojo back, huh? Just leave me and Sam to tear apart the world looking for you?”

Cas’s hands fly up to rest on Dean’s, not trying to pull them away nor trying to pull them closer. Then they’re flipped, and Dean sees red when Cas pushes him into the beam, anger flittering through the calm expression.

“I can’t, Dean,” he speaks for the first time, “I can’t live like this. I have been an angel for as long as the Earth has existed. I have seen things that you can’t even imagine,” he’s close, pressing closer, “To give it all away. I _can’t._ ”

Dean scours the ex-angel’s face, jaw tight and arms tense. Then he’s pushing Cas away, pulling back his arm and hitting him across the face again. His knuckle breaks and a splatter of blood decorates the angel’s face. Cas slumps against the kitchen counter he has fallen against and presses a finger to the small cut on his cheek, wincing.

Then Dean is in front of him, hands framing his face and thumb pressing to the trickle of blood. _Pale skin, my blood, so fucking beautiful._

_There is something worth being human for, Cas._

He surges forward and smashes his lips to Castiel, teeth and tongue and mess. It’s smooth and fluid, a kiss filled with bites and passion. Castiel makes a noise in the back of his throat and starts to reciprocate. Then he’s reaching towards Dean’s waist and hot hands find their way under the tight, black t-shirt. Dean exhales a gasp of air into the kiss and pulls away, _just a little,_ so he can press their foreheads together, their breath dancing and blending together.

They stand, panting, Cas’s hands inching along smooth skin to Dean’s back and when his fingers tantalisingly dance _right there_ at the base of his spine, Dean loses it. He tears his hands away from Cas’s face and presses them into the kitchen counter behind him, pushing a knee between Cas’s legs. When the angel hitches in a breath, he rolls his own hips forwards and then the room is filled with two sharp, desperate groans. Dean’s forehead collides with Cas’s shoulder.

He tilts his head and captures the edge of Cas’s neck with his lips, sucking hard on the skin. The sound Cas makes is _heavenly_ and Dean catches his waist with his hands, untucking the shirt. Then he thrusts his hands underneath the silky fabric, hands travelling upwards until they reach hardening nipples.

“Dean,” Cas hisses, grinding his hips in one slow movement over Dean’s. The friction makes Dean release the puckered skin of Cas’s neck and let out a hearty growl into the crook. He moves, capturing Cas’s open, desperate mouth with his, pushing his tongue deep into the crevice of Cas’s lips. Their tongues brush and stroke against each other, and Dean finds a spot, just under the tight muscle of it, that makes Cas suck in a harsh breath and push his hips more into Dean’s.

It’s too much for Dean. He’s hard, _fuck he is so hard,_ and the friction is perfect. Perfect angle, it’s hot, Cas’s hair is sticking to the base of his neck and there’s a prickling warmth flushing Dean’s chest. He deserves this. He deserves this last thing.

Dean pushes Cas’s feet apart and pushes their crotches tighter, harder and _so much closer._ Dean has to pull away from the kiss and leaves Cas leaning forwards, lips parted and tongue still poised between them. It’s enough to make Dean want to lunge forward again, but he needs to gulp down the oxygen he’s losing.

They’re at a steady rhythm, pushing their groins together in long, languorous strokes; choked moans and hot gasps filling the stifling, humid kitchen. Dean has no idea what he’s doing and he’s sure Cas doesn’t know either – it’s new to both of them, but _fuck it’s good._

Cas’s hands have retreated to the edge of the counter and he’s leaning backwards, hips pushed outwards and head tilted back. God, his creased forehead and bobbing throat was _too much._ Dean removes his hands from the underneath of Cas’s shirt and leans forwards to press his hands over Cas’s on the counter, pushing their chests together.

It’s intimate, and their warmth merges. They’re heaving with breaths, swallowed moans, covered erections pushing almost painfully together.

“Cas,” Dean says as he sucks in a breath. There’s pinpricks, a pressure that’s building and building and building and then there’s Cas, who chokes out Dean’s name before tensing up and letting out one of the _dirtiest_ groans Dean has ever heard.

He comes in his jeans with a taut moan and has to press his hands harder into Cas’s to make sure he stays on his feet. His forehead finds Cas’s shoulder again and they stand like that for a few minutes, trying to catch their breath.

“Don’t, Cas,” his voice is gravelly and broken, like it had been at the hospital after Alistair, when Cas has said it was him. _It always had to be him._ “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I wouldn’t leave you, Dean. I’ll be Castiel again. An angel of the Lord.” Cas is breathless and his hands find Dean’s face. He lifts Dean’s head away from his shoulder and Dean slides his hands back to his side, looking at Cas, whose eyes are open. They can’t see him though. _They can’t see him._

That’s how they stand, time moving around them. Then Dean swallows, his vision blurred. The base of his eyelid tugs and two tears drop evenly and silently to the floor.

“Go,” he croaks.

Castiel goes rigid and slowly removes his hands from Dean’s face, fingers brushing his jawline. He nods and then the space in front of Dean is empty and cold and his hands find the edge of the kitchen counter again. He leans forwards and closes his eyes, allowing two more tears to drop onto the tiled floor and wishing - for what could have been the thousandth time - that he couldn’t feel a damn thing.

-

A few days have passed by and Sam’s still not talking to Dean.

They’re still being chased by creatures – Bobby calls frequently to tell them to move their asses. They’re running from incubuses, vampires, werewolves, shape-shifters, demons, changelings, crocottas – any frickin’ thing Dean can think of. They’ve lessened, though. Half has gone after Cas… wherever it is that Cas had gone.

Dean spends most of his time trying not to think about a blind Castiel wandering around on the streets, hopelessly lost and utterly depressed.

Because he knows that’s not the case. The angels would have stepped in, no doubt. Found him a safe little place in the middle of nowhere and they’d keep him there until he had his Grace back. Then he’d fly back up to Heaven and that would be it.

No more Cas.

Dean lets out an angry growl and swipes an arm across the table in their motel room, sending books and plastic plates to the floor. Sam doesn’t bat an eyelash, doesn’t even spare him a glance. _He’s still ignoring him._

“Sammy, come on, man. You’re not even a little pissed at Cas?” Dean had said to him earlier. Sam had shrugged and went back to reading his book.

Dean’s sick of this silence, sick of this guilt, sick of this undying urge to call one of the dicks from above so he can ask them to get Cas back to him. He refuses to admit he was wrong, but he _knows,_ fuck, he knows he should never have told Cas to go. So what if Cas went back to being an angel? Damn it, wouldn’t it be a good thing?

It was the lying. Why hadn’t Cas just told them?

_Because he knew you’d react like this. You’d get angry, you’d yell at him, you’d tell him to go. You’d order him to leave when he had nowhere else to go._

Dean curls his hand around the edges of the table and tilts his head forwards, screwing his eyes shut.

_Fuck._

_-_

Castiel is in a motel room – he has no idea _where_ – and he’s sitting in front of the television. Since Balthazar dropped him off inside the room and told him he was not to leave, it was all he did. He listened to movie after movie, television show after television show and tried to convince himself that he was just waiting in a motel room for Dean and Sam to get back.

And when night fell and his head drooped with sleepiness, he told himself that it was okay, Dean and Sam just hadn’t gotten back yet.

But he knows he’s just telling himself that. It’s silly really, but becoming human had only weakened his resistance to emotions and feelings that he couldn’t describe. Like his need to be close to Dean, to kiss Dean, the overwhelming burst of _something_ he had experienced with Dean the night he’d left, the ache in the pool of his stomach when Dean twisted against him in _just the right way._

Or the empty hole in his chest that he knew wasn’t really there, because he’d checked. Or the way his eyes stung when he remembered Dean’s broken _‘go’_.

He just had to wait. In a few hours, he would have his Grace.

He lifts a hand to rub at his eyes – they’re closed, but they’re drying out and itching – and gently plucks at his eyelashes to relive some of the prickling. It’s an accident; he pulls his eyelid open as he pulls an eyelash away and the sudden spark of light makes him jerk. His eyes snap open and then he’s overwhelmed by brightness.

He grimaces and holds a hand over his eyes, but then it clears. _It clears._

And the television in front of him is showing a man singing to a woman on a plane.

“ _I wanna grow old with you…”_

Cas blinks. He _blinks_. And then he smiles. It widens, a grin, and he lets out a breathless huff. There’s a table in the corner of his room, the bedsheets are blue, his tie is red, the floor is dirty, the wallpaper is coated in flowers. _He can see._

“You okay, bro?”

Gabriel is standing in the centre of the room, a funny frown on his forehead.

“I… I can see.”

Gabriel looks stunted for a moment, eyebrows rising into his forehead with surprise. Then a genuine smile spreads over his face and he opens his arms.

“Hey, I guess all you had to do was wait.”

Castiel nods gently at his brother, his smile still brushing about his lips, but when he looks back at the television, it turns wistful. There’s no proof, but he just _knows._

He looks upwards towards the ceiling and thanks his Father. Then he stands with purpose and looks around.

“Send me to Dean.”

When Gabriel snorts, Cas’s gaze snaps to him, all sharp blue eyes and confusion.

“You think being able to see is going to make Deano suddenly forgive you?” Gabriel’s voice is tight and disapproving underneath the mockery and jeer. Castiel narrows his eyes and tilts his head.

“What is it about Dean that angers you, Gabriel? You seem to have taken to Sam, so it is not the Winchesters you have a problem with.”

Gabriel’s jaw is throbbing and he seems stiff, like he’s inwardly warring with himself. Then he loosens and he throws out his arms.

“That Dean kid has probably slept with more women than I have. You think I want him messing around with my little brother, when he just leaves his fuck buddies all hung out to dry?”

Oh. Gabriel was… being protective. Castiel can’t help sending him a gentle smile and Gabriel rolls his eyes, flapping a hand through the air.

“Don’t smile at me like that. It makes me want to gag.”

“You can see into his soul, Gabriel. You know where his true intentions lie.”

Gabriel returns his gaze back to Castiel and lets out a defeated sigh.

“Hey, I know. Damn it, I don’t how a soul that bright can belong to such a dick. He’s confused and in denial, Cassie. That’s only bad news for you,” Gabriel smirks a little, “You’ve made the world’s straightest man turn homo, bro. That’s an achievement to be proud of.”

Castiel doesn’t see why he should be proud of Dean being attracted to him. He just nods like he understands and steps forwards.

“Will you send me to him?”

Gabriel seems to have loosened up after their talk and there’s no hesitation in his eyes when he nods.

“Alright. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He reaches out, presses two fingers to Cas’s forehead and then he’s gone, leaving Gabriel alone. Gabriel stares around the hotel room dumbly for a few moments, then – after receiving a hasty message from Balthazar – flies away to Purgatory.

-

Dean and Sam are fighting.

They’re fighting for their God damn lives, wounded and cut and covered in dirt, shooting and slashing wherever they can. They’d been ambushed the moment they’d finished off a crocotta in the depths of the woods. There’d been none of the tell-tale signs that demons were in the area  – or maybe there had been, but Sam was too busy ignoring Dean and Dean was too busy thinking about Cas to notice.

“Sam!” Dean throws the demon knife over the head of an elderly man and Sam catches it, slashing the throat of a girl. Dean splashes holy water across the face of a man in front of him, the droplets catching in his blood-soaked beard (Dean had knocked out one of his teeth).

“Where is he?” A red-haired, busty woman strolls through the small crowd and they part like she’s a frickin’ queen. Dean elbows a teenage girl in the face and twists away from the grip of a fat middle-aged woman.

“Where’s who?” Dean snarls, finally freeing himself of the demons. There’s more heading towards him, but the woman holds up a hand. The one’s attacking Sam back down too.

“You know who we’re talking about. The little fallen angel. We’ve got something to settle with him.”

“You’re pissed because he killed your king, huh? Don’t you guys have free will now? Why not go make the most of it, before some other douche takes the crown.” Dean doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want demons, _not right now._

The woman lets out a humourless laugh that twists her pretty face into an ugly expression.

“Free will? Oh no, Dean. You see, Hell needs a leader. Without a leader, demons kill… they kill _each other._ They’re tearing each other apart down there—”

“Yeah, tell us something we’re supposed to care about,” Sam quips from behind her. Dean snorts and readjusts his footing, smirking at the rage showing through the woman’s face.

“Yeah, what he said. Why should we give a crap? You think killing our angel is gonna make it better?”

The woman’s expression contorts and changes and now she’s smiling.

“No, but it’ll make _me_ feel a whole of lot better. It might even be enough to ease the naughty little souls down below,” she takes a step forwards, red heels delving into the dirt, “So you will tell me where he is, Dean Winchester, or I’ll tear your guts out and feed them to your brother.”

Dean swallows, but stays rigid and proud.

“Bite me, you filthy son of a bitch.”

The woman’s smile falters a fraction, but she shrugs casually.

“Fine. Get him, boys,”

And then he’s being attacked from all directions and the tall, bright, singular lamppost that’s giving them a little broken light through the trees starts to flicker. He casts his eyes towards it at every chance he gets. _No. Don’t you fucking dare. No—_

It’s dark. Pitch black, almost. Dean can only see vague black figures in front of him.

There’s a sharp pain in his jaw and he falls to the floor, the force of the demon’s punch stunning his entire body. He blanks out for a few moments on the forest floor and when he comes back around, he feels a pang of worry for his brother.

“Sam!” He calls anxiously. He can still hear punching and grunting in the distance.

“Dean, we’re—” Sam stops. There’s still smacks and shouts and growls coming from his vague direction, so Dean allows himself to sigh in relief. It doesn’t last long – there’s feet kicking his ribs and legs and he stumbles to his feet as quick as he can, countering each lunge towards him. He’d practised in the dark a few times, but not like this. Not when there were more than ten demons to fight off.

He salts a few and he can hear the sizzling of others in the distance – Sam’s finishing them off with the demon knife. Dean manages to hold his bunch off long enough for Sam to come over to assist him, slashing his way through the crowd. Dean feels a rush of hope – _were they actually winning? –_ but it’s soon shot down when he’s pushed with so much force, he flies backwards and crashes into a tree. The bark crackles a little and Dean actually thinks for a minute that it’s his back that makes the sound – the rush of pain is so intense, he sees white.

It’s the woman. She’s coming towards him, murderous and grinning. In her hand is a silver knife, bent into a curve, and it looks so fucking threatening, Dean actually feels a chill run up his spine. He tries to call out for Sam, but his brother is cutting his way through the demon’s Dean had been fighting previously.

“Where’s your angel now, Winchester?” She’s close, stretching out with the knife. _She’s going to slice my throat. Damn it, of all the ways to go—_

A dark figure emerges from the side of the tree and kicks her away. She stumbles to the ground and then the dark figure is on top of her and she’s screaming. Dean has enough energy to stand once her screams die out and he glances at the figure warily, until it straightens up. He’d notice that silhouette anywhere.

“Cas,” Dean sighs in relief. Then he seems to remember himself and goes rigid. Castiel’s head turns towards him and notices his stiff posture.

“I’m not an angel, Dean. I came to tell you…” Castiel’s voice trails off in Dean’s mind the moment he sees the woman rise from the floor behind Cas, arm outstretched and _no. No, no, no, no, no._

“Move!” Dean yells, but Cas turns too late. There’s a sickly sound of a knife ripping through skin and then Castiel is hunched, hand pressed to his stomach, collapsing to his knees on the floor in front of him.

Dean can’t breathe.

Sam’s with them now, and thrusts the knife into the woman’s back. But it’s too late. _It’s too fucking late._

“Cas, no,” Dean moves forwards and catches him before he can hit the floor. It’s dramatic, Dean kneeling on the floor and Cas’s head resting atop his thighs, but Dean doesn’t care. Damn it, he doesn’t care. Because Cas is bleeding, there’s a red smudge seeping through the white shirt and everything in his head tells him there’s no way a human can survive a wound like that. _Too much blood, stomach wound, thirty minutes at most._

 “Cas, _no,”_ he repeats and then the lamppost flickers back on.

Blue, bright eyes are delving deep into his. Nostalgia, confusion, agony and grief hit him all at once. He gulps down air that he forgets to take in and he hears Sam sniffing above him.

“I can see you, Dean,” Cas whispers, blood trickling down the corner of his mouth. His hand comes up to cup Dean’s face. “I can see you.”

Dean’s expression twists and his lip trembles. _No._

“You’re not gonna die, Cas. We’ll get your mojo back. Come on,” Dean shakes Cas when his eyes start to close, “Stay with us, Castiel, you son of a bitch—” He chokes on his words.

Cas’s head is settled on his thighs, one of Dean’s hand is clutching onto the front of his bloodied shirt and the other is entwined around the back of his neck. Dean rises his head to the sky, glittering eyes staring pleadingly at the stars.

“Please,” his voice comes out unbearably quiet, “ _please..”_

“Dean. Come on, we can’t leave him like this. Let’s take him back to the motel.” Sam’s voice is hurried and strained. He’s not ready to give up yet. The limp body in Dean’s arms feels too heavy, too defeated, but the sound of his brother’s voice sends an unexpected surge of hope through him. He looks back at Cas, whose expression seems almost peaceful.

“Yeah. Yeah, we’ll patch him up. He’ll be fine.”

Lies. Of course it’s a lie. There’s too much blood. _Too much blood._

Sam makes a quiet, pained sound of agreement and helps Dean to haul Cas into his arms. Dean bends his head down, closes his eyes and presses his nose into Cas’s forehead. He breathes in. He doesn’t want to forget this; this smell, this warmth. _Like he’s saying goodbye before it’s over._

“Dean.”

Dean pulls away and nods stiffly at Sam.

They get Cas into the back of the Impala and Dean takes a blanket off of the floor, pressing it into the stomach wound. Blood pumps and flows around his hands, sucking into the material hungrily. __

“You can’t die, Cas. She was just a demon,” Dean brushes a hot palm across Cas’s sweaty forehead, watching the erratic pulse throb on Cas’s neck. “If you’re gonna die, die with some style. Come on, man.”

Sam clambers into the driver’s seat, so Dean slips into the back with Cas, lifting his head to settle it in his lap. Cas’s skin is paling – ‘ _your skin looks sorta smooth’ –_ and his hair is sticky with sweat – ‘ _sex hair. Like you’ve just come out of some heavy make-out session’._

They’re just pulling into the motel parking lot when Cas lets out a whimper – ‘ _you’re like a lost puppy’ –_ and Dean swallows thickly, refusing to let himself cry.

_He’ll be fine. Cas will be fine._

Dean notices Sam’s expression when he opens the door, leaning over to help get Cas out. He seems to be having trouble composing himself too – he looks so fucking frightened, it sends Dean back to the time they had Dean’s first-class ticket to Hell looming over them.

“He’ll be okay,” Dean croaks, eyes steadily focused on his brothers face. Sam stops moving, hands pressed to Cas’s arms, and meets his brothers eyes.

Dean doesn’t know if he’s reassuring himself or Sam.

Sam nods and his jaw is taut as he pulls Cas out of the car, wincing at the groan of pain Cas expels. Dean watches Sam take Cas into his arms and carry him hurriedly into their room. When they’re inside, Sam lowers Cas onto Dean’s bed and both brothers avoid looking at the blood-sodden blanket that’s resting atop Cas’s stomach.

There’s a moment of silence where they just stand, watching him die.

Dean thinks back to sharing pizza crusts; sleeping on Cas’s shoulder; laughing harder than he ever had. He can’t do it. He can’t live without Cas. He can’t.

He turns with a furious, ruined yell, and slams his fist into the wall. It crunches – broken, maybe – and then his other hand finds the wall. His forearms collapse against it and then he slides down, further and further, until his knees find the carpet. His head falls forwards.

“Damn it, Cas,” And the hope that he’d felt is gone. His mantra of _it’ll be okay_ won’t work. It won’t heal him.

_I forgive you, Cas, you bastard. I forgive you._

There’s a choked sound behind him – Sam.

“Dean,” his brother rasps brokenly. Dean’s eyes are closed so fucking tightly and he just wants the world to go away.

There’s ten minutes of complete silence. Neither of the brothers move. They just wait, listening to the broken moans coming from Cas. Dean can’t look at his slowly deteriorating body, so remains with his forehead pressed into the wall, arms limp at his side. They’re waiting for the last breath.

It never comes.

There’s a flap of wings and then Gabriel is there. Dean can’t get to his feet fast enough, face damp with tears he could have sworn he hadn’t shed.

 “Have you got it?” he says, moving forwards. Gabriel digs into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a necklace – it’s glowing and   _it’s the most beautiful thing Dean’s ever seen._

Gabriel looks down at Castiel sadly for a minute, taking in his sweating, pale skin and small whimpers of pain.

“We couldn’t get all of it. The souls had chewed through it like it was a piece of meat. It’s not enough to make him an angel,” Gabriel says briskly and slightly miserably before going to edge of the bed. He unplugs the cork from the top of the bottle and then tips the white, glowing spectrum into Castiel’s mouth. He hastily pulls it back, leaving a little in the bottom of the bottle.

Dean and Sam are standing and waiting in anticipation. Dean looks over to Sam, whose red-rimmed eyes are deep and wide with worry.

“Fix Cas up,” Dean orders Gabriel, because he can’t be shot down again. Not when he’s just been given more hope. Cas has to live.

But when he looks back over to the angel, he realises his skin has a little more colour to it and his breathing has slowed down – the Grace had done something.

“Cool it, hothead. He’s gonna be fine. That little bit of Grace in there should give him a little extra strength. A wound like that should take about a week to heal.”

Castiel’s eyes open before Dean can fully register that _everything’s going to be fine._ Dean’s reply sticks in his throat and he watches Gabriel crouch down over Cas, frowning slightly in confusion when he hears Gabriel whisper;

“For the husband,”

Then he straightens up, winks at Dean, smiles warmly at Sam and he’s gone. Dean’s at Castiel’s side almost immediately.

“Cas,”

Castiel turns his head and he _looks._ Jesus, he actually looks at him. Dean lets out a breath of relief and reaches forwards to push Cas’s hair back from his forehead.

“You son of a bitch, I thought I’d lost you,”

Castiel smiles and captures Dean’s hand with his own, pulling it away. Something warm is pressed into his palm. When Dean takes his hand back, the little bottle on the necklace is sitting in it. It’s glowing gently and the warmth is soothing. Cas smiles at him.

“For you. A piece of me,”

And then Cas is out cold again.

 


	4. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

It takes a week for Castiel to heal and when he does, he’s not happy. He slumps into depression – he’s stuck as a human, he won’t ever be an angel and he’s almost unreachable. It kills Dean to see him, so blank and broken.

-

They’re still running.

It’s not often something gets to them, but when it does, they’re an unstoppable team. Cas fights them off with inhuman strength, Dean stands by his side and Sam’s got their backs.

-

A month later and Cas is back on his feet. Dean and Sam just wake up one morning to see him dressed – always in his trenchcoat – and his face is bright and _alive._ That’s when Dean touches him for the first time in what seems like forever, pulls him into a hard hug that’s long overdue.

Sam comes over to hug him too, tight and strong. It surprises Cas, but he melts into Sam like a lost child finally finding his way back to his mother in the park. Dean’s eyes actually water a little, but he tells himself he’s not about to cry. He’s a man, damn it.

-

Cas’s obsession with romance movies continues. He has a small collection of his favourites that he carries with him and Dean still pretends that it annoys him. But it doesn’t. He smiles in amusement whenever he sees Cas’s small bag in the back of the Impala.

-

They get two rooms now. Sam’s insistent on it and Dean just thinks he’s being stupid, though the tension in the room between him and Cas is indescribable when they’re alone. Two months after Cas almost died, he cracks. There’s a lot of clattering, items strewn across the floor, colliding into walls and mindless thrusting. Groans, grunts, Cas’s head tipped back, sweat slicked to their chests, open-mouthed kisses, sticky hands, skin against skin and frantic hands.

When Cas orgasms, it’s like the world around him is shattering. It’s the most beautiful thing Dean’s ever seen, next to the Grace that still hangs around his neck, even when they’re fucking each other. Throat exposed, brow creased with pleasure, mouth open in a silent scream and hands spread wide, clawing at the bed sheets. It’s what sends Dean to completion.

-

It’s at the most inconvenient moment when it hits Dean. They’re finishing off a demon down a deserted alleyway, in the rain, and Cas slits its throat. His arm swings his body around with force and Dean’s momentarily stunned when – almost in slow motion – Cas turns, droplets falling from his hair, arm poised and blue eyes fiery and bright.

It’s that moment when Dean realises he’s in love.

-

Castiel knows that he loves Dean the moment he comes back to the motel room with Dirty Dancing on DVD.

-

That’s how life is for them now. Who knows how long it’ll last – the Winchesters were never meant to have a perfect life, but it’s when they’re sitting – the three of them – at a roadside café, Sam stealing Cas’s fries, that Dean finally realises.

_This is good as it’s gonna get._

 


End file.
